My Anthem

It was love at first listen. The song was so validating... so uplifting. But the real power, the real weight of it's strength was carried in it's lyrics. The song was an anthem, it's words a mantra of encouragement and a reminder to fight. To challenge the world's ideas of who you are. Fight back and say no, this is me, this is who I am.  I loved... I love it so much that I have it playing constantly, almost on repeat, at as loud a volume as the speakers will allow. 

I never stopped loving it, but the more I listened, the more I really heard and understood the lyrics, the more challenging the song itself became. Mostly, it's a song that reminds me of the need to challenge views and fight. Mostly. But the first verse was a different kind of challenge. It was both a validation of how I felt, but also a wake up call. The lyrics try to encourage you to shed the negative views others have. But, the more I listened to this song, the more I realised that I hadn't shed those views. For some reason, I couldn't. Not truly. I still hid. I still ran. I still felt ashamed. For being me. 

I wonder, if I listen to this song even more, I might learn how not to hide. How to fight back. How to be me. Without shame, without fear. Without running or hiding. Maybe this song will become even more of an anthem for me then it already is. Those words in the chorus couldn't be more right. I am bruised. But I am brave too. And this is me.  

Perfection

She sighed as she scrolled down the page of her Instagram feed. Maggie was at another café, with a picture perfect meal. She gasped. Gees! Those weights Harry said he was lifting at the gym were massive! Their mate 'Wheels' had another panoramic scope on the road from his latest road trip afventure. Whit sat there and stared at them, sinking lower in her chair. Why couldn't she be like them? Why couldn't she have the perfect life instead of being miserable here.

A message from Mad, her best friend, popped up on her screen. Want to come  hang out? Whitney say and stared at it a while. "Just do it, Whit." Whitney jumped at her mother's voice behind her. Whitney turned around to get a better look at her. "You've only got one life, Whit. Please tell me you're not going to waste it pining after perfection."
"I was just trying to figure out how my life could be the same."
"It won't be, not ever."
Whitney's mouth fell open as a disbelieving sigh escaped her lips.
"They're all filtering their lives, and posting only the tiny, 'perfect' elements to actually share with the world. They probably save them up for weeks and just post at regular intervals. To try and mirror it will just make you miserable."

Whitney looked back at her phone in her hand, still open to Instagram. A smile flickered across her lips for a brief moment before it disappeared.
"Honestly, darling, they're probably just as miserable." Whitney opened her mouth to protest, but her mother hadn't finished yet. "They just don't realise." Her mother walked around and perched herself carefully on the edge of the arm of Whitney's chair, looking once again at her daughter. "I know Mad's been wanting to hang out with you for ages now. So go do it! Go live your life instead of pretending to!"

So, Whitney went out to meet Mad. Mostly because her mother had told her to, but it was always fun with her, and Whitney had missed hanging out with her. On their adventures hanging out by the waterfront, the spotted Maggie, Mad's twin sister. Maggie's Instagram post from that morning, a picture of a supposedly flawless salad, flashed in Whitney's mind. She looked over at her again. The sight that greeted her eyes was a stark contrast to the glimpse that had been posted that morning.

Now, Maggie sat, leaning up against a pole on the edge of the make-shift café, a wooden box cradled in her lap, presumably filled with chips or something else deep-fried and not necessarily completely perfect. Maggie seemed sad as she looked down at her meal, disappointed and maybe a little guilty too.

Mad followed Whitney's gaze to see her sister sitting there. "She's like that," Mad said, her tone one that said she was used to it. "I don't know why she buys it if all she's going to do is stare glumly at it."
"I'd eat it!" Whitney's mouth watered at the mere thought of the irresistibly warm, soft, salty taste in her mouth. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of it's deliciously appealing aroma. "Should we go relieve her of the burden?"
Mad sighed. "I've tried that before. She always just seems to want to hold them. They'll go to the birds eventually."

"But why doesn't Maggie eat them herself? I' mean, how can she resist?"
"She's more concerned with looking 'perfect'," said Mad, setting the last word in quotation marks. "As if there is such a thing."
 Well, Whitney thought, maybe Mum was right. Perfection is pretend
"Maggie's the one who's missing out," said Mad. "Who's having more fun? Her, pretending perfection, or us, living lie?"
"Us," said Whitney firmly, glancing at Mad. "Definitely us."

The True Spirit of Christmas

Fresh from her University studies, and out in the world, Summer Forster was as bright eyed and bushy tailed as everyone else in her graduating class. She was nearing the end of her first year as a fully fledged social worker. It was nearing Christmas, her favourite time of the year. For her Christmas had always been filled with as much joy and merry as was humanly possible.

Unfortunately for Summer, thus year was to bring a rather rude shock. And a bit of a wake up call. Because this year was the year she learnt that not everyone shared the same magical view of Christmas that she did. In fact, for most of the clients she worked with, Christmas was a time of great sorrow and heart ache. For some, Christmas brought memories and longing for lost loved ones. For others, it brought sadness for those who couldn't make it home. For some, it was a time of frustration and anger, for they could not afford such luxuries as gifts and special food to celebrate the day.

It was only upon witnessing such frustrations and sorrows that Summer realised just how privileged she was. Never had she gone without. Never had her family gone through struggle just to give her a nice Christmas. The Christmases of her childhood, every Christmas up until now had been worry, stress and carefree. It had been a cheerful time when everyone came together to sit, talk, laugh and be merry.

Not only that but she noticed that out in the wider world, people started to become increasingly stressed and rushed. Suddenly, she understood why it was known as 'the silly season'. Why such a term as 'Christmas crazy' existed. The local shopping centres were packed to the brim, their carparks so full that some were parked illegally. There were more traffic jams and hold ups, more angry beeping of horns than was usual.

And then, there were people like Summer, whose excitement and joy at the season seemed only to heighten the anger of some, a great disappointment to her. Usually, happiness was infectious. So why not now? Of all the times when everything should be cheerful, everyone joyful, why was the merriment not catching?

Why? Because the harsh reality is that for many, the joy of Christmas is overshadowed by stress, worry, frustration and sadness. Christmas was a time when suddenly, everyone was in a rush. There were pressures, for gifts, and food and for the 'perfect' day. The more Summer though about it, the more it made sense.

Buried deep beneath all of that was the spirit of Christmas. Of giving to others. And so, Summer vowed, from this Christmas on, to lend some of her cheer to those less cheerful. She vowed to be a beacon of peace at a time when so many were anything but. But, she vowed, she would never push it on anyone to enjoy Christmas as much as she did. Never would she try and pressure someone into being joyous when for them, there simply was no joy. But she hoped that by lending some of her own joy, some of her own peace and cheer that maybe it would rub off on a few people, make the season a little better for them and bring some much needed merriment to those who needed it the most.

Ray Is Real!

"I don't know sweetheart," said her mother.
"Why won't you believe me?" she asked. "Ray is real!"
"So why can't we see him?"
"Because..." The young girl thought a moment. "Because he's magical too!"
"Magical?" asked her mother.
"Yeah. That's why you can't see him. Cause he's magical and his powers got stuck."
"What do you mean his powers got stuck?"
"His powers got stuck, and that's why we need your help!" Jen was almost yelling.
Her mother put her hands on Jen's shoulders. "Ssh. Jen, calm down. I need you to tell me more. I don't know what 'his powers got stuck' means."
"It means Ray is stuck being invisible." Jen still spoke loudly, but she was quieter than a moment ago.

"Ok," said Jen's Mum. "So where is Ray now!"
"I'm right here!" came Ray's squeaky, high pitched voice. But only Jen could hear him.
"He's right here Mum. He's standing right next to me."
Mum looked at the spot where Jen had indicated. She couldn't see anything. "Ok."
"Will you help us Mum? Please!" Asked Jen. "You'll be able to see him if you help us."
Mum sighed.
"Please!?" said Jen again.
"Alright then." She said and Jen smiled. Ray did too, but no one saw. "So what do we need to do?" Mum dropped to her knees and Jen leaned in close, whispering into her ear like it was a secret.

Jen, Mum and Ray spent a long time around the kitchen as Mum mixed together all sorts of different things into a potion, hoping something would turn it into the shimmering shade of rainbow they needed. Ray stood and cheered them on as they went. Only Jen could hear, but that didn't matter. It kept her going. It reminded her why she was doing this. It helped her to remind her Mum.

Finally, after days of experimenting, Mum held up the glass, inside of which was a shimmering, sparkly rainbow liquid. Ray cheered louder than he had ever done before. This time Jen joined him. They threw their arms up in the air and smiled the biggest smiles they'd ever smiled before.
"Mum! You did it!"

Slowly, Mum picked up the glass and handed it to Jen. Just as carefully, Jen handed it to Ray, still gripping it tightly with one hand until she knew Ray was holding it tight. Slowly, carefully he tipped the glass up to his lips and drank all that was in it quickly in one go.

There was just enough time to put the glass back down on the bench before he was lifted into the air and thick, purple smoke came to surround him out of nowhere. Mum gasped. Suddenly, she could see Ray! There was a bright, blinding flash and Ray was lowered back down to the ground. Now, instead of looking like a doll, he looked like a rather odd little boy, for his hair was a bright shade of aqua and stuck up in little spikes over his head.
"See Mum!" said Jen. "Ray is real!"

Comfort In Connection

Though the number of tears in his eyes was great, he somehow managed to hold them back. Instead, his eyes glistened and glittered with the build up of moisture, though you could only see it if you looked closely, which at the speed he was travelling, was made impossible. Really, at that speed, he could have cried freely without anyone able to see. He ran robotically, his attention fixed on the image in his mind's eye, of a beautiful quiet, calm, tranquil sanctuary.

At long last, he reached it and as he stopped before the luminous willow, he let the air leave his lungs as he gazed at it. He fell to the ground and wriggled into a comfortable position, his eyes locked on the tree above him, it's leaves hanging so low he could almost reach out and touch them. Again he closed his eyes, breathing deep as a new image began to take shape on the screen of his eyelids. This time, he saw his parents, their faces just as he remembered. They were eternally ageless now. His mother would forever have the smooth porcelain skin that had always made her look so young. His father would always be in that state of pause, between the flawless appearance of youth and the wise looks that come with age. His father had always been mature beyond his years, one of the smartest people he'd known, but never would his looks catch up.

A smile spread across his lips as he continued staring lovingly at the same image. After a while, as if by some strange magic, he started to hear their voices, whispering in his ear.
"We love you Quinn," came the gentle, soothing voice of his mother. "We didn't want to leave you. We're sorry. So, so sorry," Quinn could see his mother's soft hand reaching out, but he knew the warmth of it's touch would not reach him. It was only then that he allowed a few tears to emerge and fall slowly down his cheeks. At this, the vision of his mother's face fell and she too looked like she wanted to cry.

The tears stopped when his father reached out to him. Though he, like Quinn's mother was not able to actually touch him, the gesture was enough. "Remember Son," said his father, speaking finally, his deep and serious voice comfortingly familiar. A tiny smile reappeared on Quinn's face as he remembered the countless times growing up when his father had given him a pep talk filled with logical reasoning and affectionate, loving reminders along with sprinkles of his wisdom and a library's worth of knowledge. "We are always with you, you just need to look deep within and you'll find us. We will always be with you. And when you forget, just come back here, to this sanctuary and we'll remind you ourselves that we are right by your side. Always."