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A Letter To Jennifer Lawrence

sandbarista:

It’s time someone spoke up for the real victim here. :)

Originally posted on TechCrunch:

Dear Jennifer Lawrence,

You and I don’t know each other, but I work in tech news and, as such, have read a lot of technical speculation and analysis of what happened to you and a group of other women who work in Hollywood over the long weekend.

While it is not exactly clear how your privacy was violated and your property was stolen, there is apparently an underground ring of people who spend their precious lives perpetuating these kinds of actions — “collecting” stolen, private images of both famous and non-famous women to gawk at in online backchannels.

Though I was aware through my job that this subsection of the Internet existed, I had no idea it was this orchestrated, at this scale. Quite frankly, this fact is terrifying.

Everyone has things on their phones they don’t want other people to see. Everyone.

It sucks to be a woman on…

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Relaxing

I can no longer count the times someone has said to me that talking to me has helped calm them down. I consider this as a great compliment and am only glad to be of service to my dear friends and sometimes even exes.

I am absolutely unaware of where this relaxing effect is from or how it comes about, I am just sincerely, happy to have helped in a such a simple way.

Many a times, I have thought that this must probably be my role in life. The ability to pacify people has come in handy in my work life as I have always found myself in customer-facing type of work.

And almost in the same breath, I feel that deep longing—my heart’s prayer—to meet someone who can do the same for me. Someone to make me feel at home. If the universe would be so kind as to give me more than one person, that would be grand! But, I’ll be forever grateful for even just one to whom I can reveal my innermost thoughts and feelings without the fear of being rejected or judged. Most of all, I ask that that person not to be dismissive about some of my rather dark emotions.

“Everybody has a dark side,” so the song goes…

But I guess for most, we keep that side of ourselves tucked away in secret places lest we turn people off.

 


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Scripts…

I’ve been thinking about scripting in the psychological sense lately. I remember having read that the script your parents told you—verbally or through their interaction with you—would be the script you tell yourself your whole life.

Supposedly, it’s that pervasive inner voice that echoes throughout your being. It could be uplifting or damaging, depending on what your parents or authority figure in your life said or made you feel. Awareness of the script can empower you to either nurture that script into fruition if it’s great, say “you’re awesome.” The same awareness could push you to fight the script if it’s particularly debilitating to your growth as an adult; for example: “you’re dumb and will never amount to anything.”

In my little head, I have the following scripts swimming around:

“You’ll be pretty when you lose weight.”

“You are not pretty so you should at least dress well.”

“You are not pretty so you should be smart.”

“Your eyes/face looks dumb.” or “You look dumb.”

“You will have diabetes.”

“You are not the prettiest niece, maybe you’re third prettiest.”

Typing the scripts above was difficult. They came from people I love and respect and yet the words are truly hurtful. They’ve been etched on my mind (and heart) and as much as I try to resist it, I remember them constantly as I go about my daily life.

When I am meeting someone for the first time, facing a client, doing a presentation—whenever I need the most confidence—these scripts pop in and remind me of my inadequacies looks-wise. That’s why failure in school or work hit me doubly hard. If I fail to perform in the ‘brains’ department then what do I have left? Nothing, just my fugly, scarred face.

Having PCOS and it’s many symptoms does not help either. I feel less and less a woman, and I dread being looked at by anyone. I use my humor to shield myself from other people’s eyes…I figured if they’re laughing they won’t notice my imperfections, if I make them laugh they’d at least like me for my personality.

Everyday, I do battle with these scripts.  Looking at the mirror each day, I face my demons.

 


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Beach myself

Usually when I say I want to “beach myself” it is in the context of my friends and I making a joke out of grammar and planning a trip.

But a couple of years back, probably 3, I sincerely was filled with the desire to beach myself as marine animals would.

Often, wounded or ill marine mammals like whales and dolphins who find themselves too weak to keep themselves afloat just hand it over to the waves to wash them ashore to their eventual demise.

I imagine (and definitely hope) it to be a soft and calming experience, like the sea that they’ve called home all their lives is finally cradling them to their grave.

I would love to have that choice–to have that wonderful gift to elect an appointed time and date of my end.


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Winding down

Since I turned 27, I’ve been rounding off my age to 30.

I’ll get there anyway, I say…unless, of course, I expire suddenly.

I do not shy away from talking about death, least of all my own. Lately, I’ve been catching myself thinking about it more and more.

The more the thought of death dwells inside my head, the more appealing it becomes. Dying.

It’s supposed to be my mid-life, based on life expectancy projections, but I really feel like I’m almost wrapping up. 

You know, just gathering a few more things here and there, making the last handful of memories, learning some of the final important lessons I’ll need before I am finally ready to go.

I wonder how it will happen… what will it feel like when I close my eyes for the last time in this mortal body?

What will it feel like when I open my eyes to my new existence? Will I even get to feel it? Will I still continue to exist?

To my mind, these are not sad thoughts. Leaving this life is not a sorrowful fate.

Being left alone in this life by the people you love, is a whole different matter. 

I’d rather leave than be departed from.

 


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Bring back the summer of my youth!

I have been remiss in my blogging duties these past few days.

I blame it on my weird little head that pounds and throbs at the slightest movement and on the first kiss of heat.

Today’s summer days are no longer the same summer days as in my memories.  I recall dousing ourselves in hose water during the summer, playing barefoot in our red-brick driveway, and flying back and forth on our large wooden tree swing under the shade of our Santol tree. These days, I can’t do much under the sun—my skin feels like it’s broiling my flesh inside if I walk for more than 5 minutes without an umbrella, my arms and chest get these itchy red rashes that scream to be scratched, and my head…oh, dear…it feels as though a huge pair of knuckles take turns kneading the insides of my skull—roughly, unforgivingly.

I miss summer days of old when the heat was tolerable—enjoyable even. They were days when I could stay under the fleeting cloud cover and be kissed ever so lightly by the sun’s rays leaving me brown and sprightly.

Nowadays, I couldn’t leave the house without my umbrella or my bottle of menthol embrocation to keep me up and functioning like a normal human being.  What has happened to my summer…why has it become the worst days of my year? :(

 


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The social life

When you Facebook and tweet for a living, you’ll ironically Facebook and tweet less and less about your own life.

You’ll need to double, triple and quadruple check what account you’re logged into when sending out a tweet. Your heart will skip a beat once a post is sent out and your eyes will dart to the profile photo to check if it’s your own face showing up and not a logo.

I remember a huge account once tweeting that that he was buying treats for friends and family. I recall reading a tweet about how this big brand was supposedly having a bad dream. Of course, these tweets have been since redacted–deleted within seconds of posting–but those infamous tweets will remain a favorite joke within community manager circles.

On that note, more and more, you’ll find your circle of friends to all be community managers and content writers just like you. Your concerns at dinner gatherings would be that of your extended family–your huge FB community in the thousands, and once upon a time, in the millions, in my case.

Together, you’ll exchange stories about the ups and downs of being that anonymous human being behind a brand online. Likes, shares and positive sentiment in the comments will be the basis of your daily outlook.

Often, irate customers would insult the intelligence of community managers when they grow impatient. They forget that it’s a team of actual people with feelings, families, hobbies, and interests, whose on the receiving end of all insults they boldly type out on the comments section. Little do they know that these community managers could very well be the funniest, smartest, most quirky people they’ll ever meet in their lifetime. But until you tweet with a brand’s logo as your face, in the brand voice, with the brand personality, they’ll never know what fun they’re missing. :)

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