It was an average day, nothing exceptional had occurred…yet. As I left work at around 7:30 pm I headed to the elevator to take me to my car on the 5th-floor parking lot. These elevators weren’t the most modern or even trustworthy, but 5 flights of stairs did not sound appealing to me. I hopped in while looking on my phone, I was the only one inside so didn’t even really bother looking up. I pressed my level 5 and refreshed my Instagram feed, but then the lights started to flicker. A flicker soon turned into back, and the whole elevator came to a halt. No floor sign, no lights, and pressing the buttons did nothing. For a second I count believe it, this had never happened to me. Alone in the small square, my anxiety shot up immediately.

I turned my flashlight up to try and call the emergency hotline, after a few loud beeps, and a ringing telephone, I was connected to a man in a call center. He asked what my emerges was and I told him, he asked if I needed immediate medical attention or had a disability and I responded, he asked if I needed anything before he contacted someone to come get me out, and I said “Just please hurry, I’m in here all alone and scared”. He assured me he would call me back in ten minutes. At that moment, that felt like forever.
I sat down, the elevator continued to move, shake and change floors. I imagined it would just drop and I would die like in a movie.

The service was spotty, but I called my sister who always answers. She could barely make out what I was saying, but I told her I loved her and I would call her back as soon as I was out. It sounds dramatic but I didn’t know what was going to happen. With each bump, move, and flicker I got more and more afraid. This elevator I used countless times a week, and with people, had never felt so small. It was as if all my anxiety and anguish filled the square, and there was no room for anything else. I found it hard to breathe, which was just me being crazy, the air quality was fine.

I sat there, alone, in the dark for 13 minutes. Waiting for someone to rescue me, or for a light to turn back on and I could go about my day again. Even though the space felt so filled and I was busting at the seams, I also recognized how little I was in that corner. I was helpless and had no control over anything in that space, except making sure didn’t go ballistic.

After a few bumps, I could finally hear people outside, and very quickly the lights turned on and the door opened. A few businessmen were waiting outside, getting ready to get on. I was huddled in the corner looking very disheveled. I shot up without saying anything and stormed past them. “I wouldn’t use that” was all I dared to muddle to them. I climbed a few flights and went to my car to cry and unload the fear that was inside me.

The next day, I took the stairs, and I have every day after. On the bright side, my legs are looking quite good.

*This is MY take on Grind Culture. Completely just opinions I have formulated through watching a lot of my friends fall into “grinding”. This take DOES NOT apply to everyone.

“Grinding” is the idea of working really hard and pushing yourself either to your limits or way past them, in order to make more money or achieve a goal such as getting schoolwork done. It is common to hear “I’m on my grind” from college students or young adults that are consistently overworking themselves. These people are under the impression that this grind is benefitting them, I mean they’re getting their work knocked out, or they are getting a lot of money… But at what cost? Grinding implies that these people are often running off little sleep, lots of caffeine, not much food and absolutely no rest. This society has drilled into our brains that if we are doing anything that is not seen as productive i.e., making you money or getting you a degree, you are wasting your time.

I cannot wait until I get to the point where I am not thinking about my body so much. I frequently enough think about how it looks in clothing, without clothing, around other people, how it fits in spaces, and even how it moves.

I love fashion and streetwear, and you know nowadays you can’t be on social media without seeing all the different styles and outfits people be rocking. I’m trying to get like that so bad. Not to be like other people, but to be able to wear the clothes that I think are tuff and to authentically express myself in the clothes and styling of my choosing. It really sucks that my options are very limited as not only a plus-size person but a plus-size female who wears and wants to rock men’s clothing. I can’t count on my hands the number of times I’ve seen some tuff clothes that I want and have the money to buy, but they didn’t sell it in my size. I just don’t have enough fingers. This dilemma has been one of the highlights of my life. I’m left with the options of either loosing weight, waiting on the clothing industry to up the sizes, or make my own clothes tailored to me. I want to lose weight regardless, but I shouldn’t have to to wear the clothes I want. They should be more accommodating of differently sized bodies.

When it comes to thinking about my body, sometimes it’s a question of am I just overthinking. In some cases, maybe, but in others, I am forced to. Like when going out to a restaurant with people and we are sitting in a booth, it’s how much additional space am I taking up compared to the others. Can we all fit? Sometimes there has to be an arrangement of smaller bodies sitting with bigger bodies for it to work. When choosing where to sit in the commons, it can never be those silver metal chairs because they are too constricting, and my ass and thighs won’t fit. When I’m going somewhere with my friends in a car and 3 people have to be in the back, I’m probably going to have to sit up front so there is more space available in the back. I guess these things can’t be helped because that’s just the way body and space work, but it sucks. If there is one thing on this campus that I really really strongly and heavily dislike, is a hill/incline. Not only do I be tired as shit going up them hills trying to catch my breath, but the part of walking on a hill that is supposed to be less taxing, even requires some work sometimes. When I’m walking up a hill, one thing that keeps me going is the fact that it won’t be as hard walking down. Those hills with the steep inclines/declines can really kick rocks. If any of y’all live on campus and know that hill that starts in lot 8 by the library and goes all the way up to the apartment community center, y’all can visualize what I’m talking about. I don’t know about y’all body, but when I’m going down that hill, my body is having a full-on fight with gravity. I really have to try to control my body on trying to pace the hill and not go down too fast. This is one of the times I feel the most disconnected from my body because gravity, momentum, and the decline have more influence over my body than my mind does.

Somedays it feels like sickness. Bill if I’m gonna write you another letter I’ll never send I think I should get a grade for it.

Two summers ago you would have too much and yell at me with this big smile on your face. I’d get to laugh, shake my head and tell our friends I knew you’d love me, I knew we’d be the best of friends. And I was right. That autumn our friends went back to school but our classes were still online. We slowed down drinking and got real close. I loved how you listened to people, you’d get real quiet and nod your head when someone spoke. When I brought new friends over, you and I would listen to them all night long. I was just mimicking you, trying to listen like you, but when my friends left you’d tell me they were geniuses. The same way you think everyone’s a genius for something. I would drive home after a night out, curl into bed and text my partner to tell them I loved them, and then I’d text you to say thanks for listening. I told you once, that you reminded me of a science teacher we’d had way back when, who really saw people.

Is it cliche for me to say that I’m an old soul? One thing I always wish is that I lived in the 80s or 90s. Besides the crack epidemic and the extensivity of racism at the time, the generational time period was what I had an interest in. Even though I enjoy the time I live and am thankful for the improvements since that time, sometimes  I feel like the culture of the 80s and 90s is not replicable. It was the beginning and the foundation of the African-American culture we see today. That was when rap was born, rhythm and blues were born, and fashion was born. Of course Lil Baby makes good music, but he can never compare to the hip hop artists from back in the day like Biggie, Snoop Dogg, and Tupac. Their music has a different vibe, it gives me a feeling that I cannot feel while listening to Summer Walker, Nicki Minaj, or Ariana Grande. Rhythm and Blues from the 70s and 80s hits even more different. I feel like I’m in another dimension when I listen to songs like Strawberry Letter 23 by the Brothers Johnson, or Footsteps in the Dark by the Isley Brothers. They give me such a serene and eccentric feeling. I feel that maybe the reason why I tend to favor the older versions of these genres rather than newer ones is that back then it was just starting, and it was original. Music now is not bad, but it has been reinventing and recycling itself for decades and decades. I remember when the black 90s sitcom Moesha came out on Netlfix during quarantine. I watched all six seasons in less than a week. it wasn’t even just the excitement of the plot that kept my attention, but the fantasy of being a teenager in the 90s. I was obsessed with the idea and the music I heard, the fashion I saw, and the all-around atmosphere of the show. The tales and stories I hear and read and watch make me envious of 90s teenagers, and make me wonder how my life would be if I grew up in that time. However, I am always glad to have been born in the era I was born in. I just wish I could’ve experienced the 80s and 90s.

Caution: No animals were seriously injured over the course of this story. The stunts performed in this story was performed by professionals , and stuntmen(like myself ofc hehe).

I know for a fact , we’ve all experienced a phenomena where we are placed in situations where we have a choice to be called to action , or stray from the danger. Situations where we are persuaded by our moral compass of what’s good and bad ,some may call it civic duty. Yet in this case I’m very conflicted in regards to what my actions warranted.

It starts with a Siberian Husky named Max, one fine afternoon when I got off the bus this beautiful white and black ,furry dog approached me in a manner so playful yet with no owner around I can only think he was lost and had ran away. Now if you know anything about Siberian Huskies you know that in their minds any sudden movement towards them is a sign of play , and lord knows huskies know how to play. Now imagine a young 5’11 male running miles around the neighborhood attempting to tame a wild Pokémon. I wish I could attach videos where I’m running after Max and he hits me with the meanest juke , stealing my ankles causing me to fall onto the ground of someone’s drive way. As I progressed more and more throughout my neighborhood I gained the attention of many passerby’s and bystanders who were in their cars and those on their walks would take notice and care for the wild Pokemon(my new name for Max) as he dodged every poke ball there is I could of possibly threw at him. For instance , we would catch Max then with one slight twist of the neck we lose grip of his collar and he’s off to the races as if he is a horse racing for money.

Now this is where it gets conflicting , Max decided it was a good idea to run full speed towards a busy highway. Now when I say busy I mean busy, and Max being naïve; since he was a puppy for sure , didn’t know any better. That we weren’t chasing him in hopes of playing with him , yet with intentions of saving him. Turns out Max ended up getting hit by a car , then sprints full dash into the woods that connects to our neighborhood. Thankfully , the vet was right off the side of the highway, seeing the whole thing unfold they rush out to try an aid Max. Yet he had already ran-off , thus a man hunt started for our little Pokemon. The hunt went on for about 30 minutes until , we tracked him to a house we suspected Max ran away from.

This is where it gets even crazier, when we knocked on the door for the owners of Max , they never knew Max left and that Max was home the whole time. After getting hit by the car Max ran back home. To our surprise and dismay , me and a fellow good Samaritan did not know what to do or say except feel like this.

So I must ask , was it really better for me to step up and try and be the hero for Max , possibly causing him to get by a car. Or should I have minded my business and let him roam. This is for you guys to answer to me!!