DeltaWomen Magazine June 2013 Issue-GoodQuality

7/28/2019 DeltaWomen Magazine June 2013 Issue-GoodQuality

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DELTAWOMEN

MAGAZINE


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OPENINGNOTE


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I always thought that here at DeltaWomen, we never

believe in boundaries, limits or barriers but leafing

through the submissions we received for the June Issue, I

realized DeltaWomen staff, friends and family believe

in one limit and that is Hate!Yes, We dont hate. We love.

Getting to know our contributors, I realized that we all

despise the very same thing: Hate.

This issue is dedicated to each and every person atDeltaWomen who fights against hate and discrimina-

tion.

Elaheh Zohrevandi

ii

Editors Note


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THE DIARIES ROOM HEARING OTHER

VOICES


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Dear Sisters,

How're you doing? Oh, like always I want to share my stories

with you. However, I bring something new. In a certain night, I

decided to open other women's virtual diaries. Sometimes we

write too much and say nothing. In this case, a couple of words

revealed how linked we are in this world. One more time, one-

ness changes my structure.

The first diary I read was Shantelle's. She suffered a lot with

something that damaged her son and her younger sister. She

teaches us to keep our mind open and keep having faith not to

fall into traps; she wants justice and a happy ending for other

families.

The second diary I opened was Shelly's. She's a very confused

teenager who wishes to have fun with her family. In this lady's

opinion, she wasn't warned about the dangerous and delicious

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful,

committed citizens can change the world. It's

the only thing that ever has.Margaret Mead

4

The Diaries Room

Hearing Other Voices


6/46

phase of life she was entering. She has no idea what she'll do

now, because she's confused about her next minute of exis-

tence.

Loviisa's diary is a call for action: she protests the death of

her friend, questions about how real is her country and callfor a less mute voice. She wants a more feminine leadership

in the world. By the way, which woman doesn't want to be

heard? Any sister wants to see women being the same they

were agesago?Aurora, on the other hand, needs a less manipulated reality,

but how? She says individualism and luxury are her worst vil-lains. Real luxury, she says, consists in having time, happiness

and peace. Based on all these reflections, she lost motivation

to study, but she wants it back.

Maddalena's diary is a love declaration... to her routine. One

day, she woke up decided to be in shape, but she has con-

science of how hard is keeping a promise like this alive. She

writes hopeful of doing something. Is she doing everything

she proposed herself to do?

Gertie, back from 6 months of hard work at school, asks her

audience about what to do if she puts herself in risk for chas-

ing her dreams. She's desperate because her plan A failed.

Will her plan B work? She doesn't have one. Neither a plan

B, nor plans C, D, E, F or G!

The last diary I read before sleeping was Gordana's. She's

brokenhearted: she wants somebody to make her happy, not

only to kiss, take pictures or show the guy off, like a medal.The one she thought that could complete her now acts like a

stranger. He just looks for her when he needs something.

That's exactly her breaking point. She's very afraid of com-

mitting the same mistakes, but she wants someone holding

her.

When will the day come for these women? When will the daycome for us? I think we have something from these 7 charac-

ters inside of us. Although some of them are afraid of sur-

prises and life's traps, they aren't afraid to feel. They aren't

afraid of living one day after another.

I'm incapable to teach you how to give a painless step for-

ward or how to fight for something you believe for a long

time. Love your enemies. Even if you have chances to fall,

fight. Leave your safety zone and take some risks, if you

believe in what you're doing. Go ahead; open your wings and

fly, sisters! See you soon.

5


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Kirthi Jayakumar

Ugly.

Retard.

Nerd.

Wipe your face off the earth with acid, Ill even pay for

the acid.

Loser.

Fat pig.

I heard it all the time: whether while walking down the

hallways, or sitting inside class, skimming through a

textbook, while eating a snack, or even while just sitting

quietly while waiting for a ride to get back home.

I AM WHO I AM,

ACCEPT ME ASYOU FIND ME


8/46

This is just the tip of the iceberg: the huge, glacial edifice of hos-

tility and astute hatred ran far deeper, all through High School

and College.

It didnt matter what I did or didnt do I was me, and that

was immensely difficult for so many people around me to ac-

cept. I set out with my ambitions, I had my dreams. But to

them, I was nothing more than a joke, a stimulus for cruel laugh-

ter and insults. To them, my ambition was not supposed to be

anything besides trying to be invisible, if the earth below didnt

do me a favour by caving in and swallowing me whole.

Their logic is simple: If you are radically different, I love youbecause you are radically different. But if you are ordinary, I

hate you.

It is easy to throw these adjectives. It is very easy to sit on that

side and pass judgment. It is totally easy to say that someone is

What is not easy, is being at the receiving end.

What is normal anyway?

If you cant say something nice, just dont say

anything.

7

I am who I am, accept

me as you find me


9/46

ugly, or that someone is a retard, or that someone is a loser.

Very, very easy. It is very easy to string two harsh words to-

gether and stamp it on someones forehead, branding them

forever.

But what is not easy, is being at the receiving end.For the one that gets called these unsavoury things, the one

that grows up trying to hide or trying to get lost in the crowd

in the hallway of a High School or College, the one that tries

to meld into the background so they look nothing more at-

tractive than a wallflower, it is always an uphill climb. For

years, they hear the same thing. And that is laid over themlike dollops of thick cream, until it becomes one with their

skin. When they want to try something they think theyre

good at, the words they heard thrown against them will swill

about in their heads. And so theyll lie down until the feeling

of wanting to give something a shot, goes away. Trusted

friends will feel seem like mythical creatures, when people are

nice it will feel like they are doing you a favour or worsestill, like they are being nice to get something out of you.

Bullying scars. And indefinitely. What gives anyone the right

to brand another person? What gives one the authority to

make another look small? Why, really? What lets one decide

that the other is not normal? Wait what is normal any-

way? If they are the norm, Im so glad to be the exception.

Words are destructive, so terribly destructive that they can

leave you crushed under their power. We forget that words

are not just a means of communication: but become a verbali-zation of our thoughts. We forget that words are not just cal-

lous utterances that one forgets like yesterdays news, but are

etched in the hearts and minds of the one hearing them.

Words. See the power that the five letters have together? If

you cant say something nice, just dont say anything. That

doesnt mean you should keep criticism or disappointment to

yourself speak it out but dont go out of your way to mess

a person up.

I leave you with Lloyd Jones line from Mister Pip. I am who

I am, accept me as you find me., and this beautiful video of

Shane Kozcyns speech at a TED talk. If this doesnt make

you think, you need help.

http://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_

the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3

hMFmJ.facebook

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http://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebookhttp://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful.html?source=facebook#.UT1Bq3hMFmJ.facebook


10/46

The Age of

Rape

WinnerofPoem

Competition

ByMohammedR.Monifi


11/46

The air of winter heated by spring sun.

The sky is completely clear, without clouds.

Noisily walking, makes me frightened when running.

The dew as a baby on the leaves cracked again,

By the new born winds, the sister of hurricane.When the sun grows smaller; it fades away.

When the sun grows bigger; it fades away.

This olive tree watered by the dew of mourning.

Beneath it, the four girl are sitting talking.

Come my reader! Listen to their poignant words,

Fed from the blood of suffering, the desperate cries at the night.

"I want to talk first, please everyone, hear."

As you see, I am an African girl, slave, neglected.

This is not my story; it is my sister's life.

This is my story; I am a woman too.

One day. She went alone. Telling me Bye.

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The Age of Rape


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The streets were empty, no breath breaks the silence.

A group of men appeared as hungry hyenas from Savanna.

Seven men snatched her away, by a van.

She was alone, we're not with her, she's powerless.

She couldn't fight, I still hear her screams.My sister was torn, her limps everywhere by a knife.

They assuage the beasts within them.

They gathered to quench their thirst by a lonely girl.

When you drink the can of cola, you throw it away.

I am afraid to walk alone, I am happy with we.

I gather with you, my new sisters, to lament her.

If she were alive, the story would be terrifying.

Oh I forget. I want to tell the fear before the end.

Getting back from the cemetery. Man is near me.

We're alone. The loneliness is the magnet of men.

The vampire sees the blood; his fang getting longer.

The men sees the women; their arms getting longer.

To catch me strongly, to caress my chest.

"Come my baby. I am the hero. I am hero of Harlequin.

Let the romance writers write our narratives in this street."

Baby in the songs. Baby in soap opera. Baby in streets.

Women are not any more. Baby will be more.

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13/46

The universe is of men and us , babies.

That is here, and mine, but it is ours.

Now, I will hear, let your lips clear."

The winds are moving away, the leaves rustling.

As if they are arguing ; they retell the fear.Dear sister, we're with you, fear will be no more.

We see a pain in your face. Is this a scar?!

Oh. Karina. Tells us. Let your stored pain out of your mouth.

"What can I tell, the story of Andrea froze my mouth.

My eyes are melted, my heart still beating up."

Dear sister, we're with you . fear will be no more.

"My words are born of agony, and ceaseless suffering.

I live in India, ubiquitous in the media.

About women killed and raped every minute passing.

The driver told me get in, the road is a long way.

I was so tired. To be carried is a good chance.

I thought I towards home. I was towards his instead.

He pulled me violently, I struggled and ran away.

Yet four men other pursued me and pulled me away

Their place is like forest: full of wild hungry animals.

One of them rip my clothes, and hold me tight.

The night got darker, the owls start howling.

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14/46

The fears, inside me, seemed to be adult.

They threw me down in the street, cut my face with knife.

If I told somebody, my head would be cut off."

Oh Dear, don't worry we with you forever.

Why are you so sad? You seem to be Your face looks pale, your eyes about to wail.

Your tears as crystal, will clean the past seen. Wail!

"Two stories I heard, mine will be the third.

I was a child walking around the green, lonely garden.

I was thirteen years old, thirteen years of innocence.

A handsome boy I met; my body annoyed by his hands.

To my friend's house went, I found him there bent.

Come my dear. I will show you the beautiful, he said.

In the lonely room, he cuffed my mouth , made me fainted.

Then there is a being moving inside me. I carry the life.

Alone I was wailing, he hit me down.

That life has gone, l 'm still alive.

They create the condom to hide their crime.

To enjoy whenever they want, no other tracks they got."

Are you pregnant? " No, he wore a condom."

You were mother: you were thirteen'

A child carried a child. A child rape a child.

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" You are not alone. We are with you".

The land of Pharaohs , the land of two wonders of world.

You are from Egypt. You are an African woman.

You with us, tell us your life, your death.

Let the words , the injured, raped, cut words born out.Speak, let feminists hear the fourth woman.

" I was a teacher, teaching the males of the males

While I was writing on the board, the student closed the door

The others cornered me. They were strong enough to catch me.

My clothes torn, my skin bruised, if I move, I will be killed

They make me bent, stretched on the school desk.

They started to create the romance imagined at night.

That is the end of innocence . Even the "child" is a male.

They called me. At his office with those male children.

" you are A whore, you're A pitch, spoiling my students", said he.

I was alone, I cannot speak, I was helpless

If the dead could speak, I would speak up at that moment."

However, you speak aloud, we here hear your voice.

Have you ever heard a woman raping a man?

The man sucks. Even the child is not away from him.

The child and the woman are the babies of the song they sing.

The Ice Age has terminated. Will the Rape Age be ended?

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16/46

Fernanda Matricardi

Women working as house employees in riches's families

homes is common around cities in Brazil. This labor is a

legacy of slave culture, as the country had experienced in

the past. Therefore, there is a marginalization of this

working class, as if it was not worthy. Nowadays there are

some work rights these people have, but it remains

undervalued. Until now...

FIGHT FOR IT


17/46

The Brazilian government approved a new law by april of this

year. This law guarantees domestic workers the same rights as

other workers. It is a giant achievement for them. By it, some

rights includes: maximum work hours journey, payment for over-

time worked, compensation for unfair dismissal, establishmentof basic salary, 13 salary, vacation of 30 days, 120 days for preg-

nancy and retirement.

It is a big step for recognition of women that work very hard

and does the job nobody wants to do, like clean the bathroom.

Furthermore, all of them have their own lives, their own chil-

dren, their own house to care and, most of time, leave thisthings alone to take care of unknown person's house and child.

So, by doing this, Brazilians walk toward the more developed

countries in this aspect and encourage women from those coun-

tries that don't have similar recognition to fight for it.

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Fight for it


18/46

I've got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry

The baby to dry I got company to feed The garden to weed I've got shirts to press The tots to dress The can to be cut I gotta clean up this hut

Then see about the sick And the cotton to pick.Shine on me, sunshine Rain on me, rain

Fall softly, dewdrops And cool my brow again. Storm, blow me from here With your fiercest wind

Let me float across the sky 'Til I can rest again. Fall gently, snowflakes Cover me with white Cold icy kisses and Let me rest tonight.

Sun, rain, curving sky Mountain, oceans, leaf and stoneStar shine, moon glowYou're all that I can call my own.

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Woman Work


19/46

Paromita Bardoloi

Father hits mother,

Mother goes to kitchen to cook.

Daughter watches,

Hits the doll mockingly, plays again.

First circle of wrong lessons,

Violence is okay.

FIRST CIRCLE


20/46

Aswathy Mariyam Mathew

At the age of seven, during my school vacation I used to

look at my friends mother who bathed her, towel dried

her hair and fed her. At the age of seventeen, I used tolook at my friends who were going to their home every

weekend to enjoy home food. Now at the age of twenty

seven, I look at the parcels that my friends receive from

their mothers.

I always wanted Love Love of a mother.

THE DAY


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Scenario 1

A seven year old girl rode her bicycle and reached herfriends house. In front of their house they had plenty ofplants with white f lowers. My friends mother was lean withlong black hair and had a fair complexion. She used to make

tasty food for my friend and oiled her hair. I keenly observedall those processes. No one was there to feed me. I had myfood on my own. Most of the time rice slipped out from mylittle fingers. No one had ever oiled my hair. No one wasthere to correct my Homework. My grandmother broughtme up in my aunts house. Once, my aunty was making anomelette for her kids. I too was there in the kitchen looking atwhat she was making with an egg. She suddenly turned to meand asked Why dont you ask your mother to make it for

you? According to me, that led to the First World War in mylife. My grandmother overheard that and started fightingwith my aunty. Moral of the lesson Never look at anyonewhen they make food for their children. Gradually I startedseeing a dream, a lean, fair lady with long black hair comesand says that she is my mother and we walk together talking

and laughing in between white Lilly flowers covered with fra-grance for miles and miles. I started waiting for that particu-lar day. The day, I find the love of my mother.

Scenario 2

At the age of seventeen, I was in a convent hostel to do myBachelor Degree. Every week end my friends in hostel wentto their homes to see their parents. I looked at them throughthe window of my room. I had no place to go. No one was

there to make home food for me. Loneliness was my onlycompanion during weekends. When I had fever in the hostel,no one was there to check my temperature and to give medi-cines. At that period of my life I started writing poems. Inone poem I even wrote

I am dead, my eyes are closed

But my heart is still beating to see my mother

One of my friends felt bad seeing my condition. Once shetook me to her home. Her home was two hours away frommy hostel. It was in a village. I travelled through the forestand among the mountains. We reached there by late evening.Her home was ten minutes away from the bus stop. It wasdrizzling and I didnt mind to open an umbrella. We walkedthrough the paddy fields hearing the croaking frogs and chirp-

ing birds. Through the rain drops I figured out that someonewas standing at the gate. Darkness and raindrops made myvision unclear but I got an idea that it was my friendsmother. When I reached near her, she hugged me. For thefirst time in my life I felt the warmth of a hug. My eyeswelled up with tears. But the rain helped me to hide mytears. That night I got homely food, homely affection and a

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perfect sleep. Slowly the dream visited me where a lean, fairlady with long black hair comes and says that she is mymother and we walk together talking and laughing in be-tween white Lilly flowers covered with fragrance for milesand miles. I started waiting for that particular day. The day,

I find the love of my mother.Scenario 3

At the age of twenty seven, I am in an apartment in the U.S.I am a home maker now. The first thing I can see from myapartment is the highway. Cars are going like bullets firedfrom a gun. Here it is winter now. Most of the places are cov-ered in snow. Trees are naked. Beginning of the winter itself,

migration birds have flown away. Here most of my friendsspend their time over phone. Daily they talk with their par-ents for hours. Web chat with parents is also an importantpart of their life. During their birthdays and wedding anniver-saries they get heavy parcels by courier from their parents.The parcel contains colourful ethnic dresses, delicious snacksand household utensils that are unavailable in the U.S. Whenthey talk about their loving family for hours, especially in the

places where I cannot escape like in a car or me as a guest intheir place, I feel like the oxygen I am breathing is reducing.My feeling epitomises when they talk about their lovingmother who has taken care of them during their deliverytime. I know that they are neither seeing my silence nor myunshed tears. Days and months went like that.

A particular day like that someone knocked on my door.When I opened the door, I couldnt believe myself. Mymother. All my questions are answered now. We talked forhours, the grievances, the agony, the pain that held in myheart for years. She oiled my hair, made tasty food for me

and fed me. We went out and had a great shopping. Sheplayed with me over the phone acting like she was talkingwith me for hours, the most thing I envied at my friends. Wehad dinner together, hugged each other and slept. The per-fect day! The day I have dreamt for years. The day I will cher-ish till my end.

Suddenly I woke up from my sleep. Was that a dream? Icouldnt believe it. I looked out with a plain face. Spring hascome. New green leaves have made the trees more beautifuland the migration birds are back. Do migration birds possessmemories? I dont know. I possess my dreams rather than mymemories. I went out for an evening walk. Sun seems to bemore beautiful today. It is surrounded by red and pinkclouds. White flowers on the trees have an ash shadow nowas if its hiding some secret dreams. Whole nature seemed to

be like a silhouette, the trees, the birds and the sun. Suddenlyout of the clouds a lean, fair lady with long black haircomes and says that she is my mother and we walk togethertalking and laughing in between white Lilly flowers coveredwith fragrance for miles and miles. I started waiting for thatparticular day. The day, I find the love of my mother.

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23/46

FEEL SMART AND

FOLLOW YOURHEART


24/46

Beyond the noise coming from the crowds and the confusing

sounds we hear day by day, deep inside us theres this little

voice telling us what to do or how to act in certain situations.

This might be the reason that explains why mothers find out

what is going on with their kids, when we know our friend is

not having a good time or despite what people say, we just

keep going against the stream convinced we are just doing

the right thing.

Innumerable times, life is not about to be rational and meas-

ure every step, life is about to follow that mysterious mini

us inside that makes us unique, that give that special touch

to our gender. Some people name it as sixth sense but I call

it intuition: as the knowledge obtained neither by reason nor

by perception but instinctive, which guides us beyond the

logic and translate our decisions into pure heart determina-

tions, sometimes hard to perceive even harder to obey.

This slight but powerful voice doesnt come as a gleam, some-

times takes time to listen it clear while we go through some

feelings such as curiosity, hunches, hesitation, even doubt and

fear, especially in situations when everything even our mind is

cloudy and blurry with any close exit.

Understand intuitions language is about to be sure about

what we are, where we have come so far and trust in our-

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Feel Smart And Follow Your Heart


25/46

selves: no matter what the consequences will be, because we

are strong enough to face whatever we have chosen. The key

is stop pretending we can control everything but be ready

and believe we are going through it, believe you are capable

and strong to bring down any wall blocking your journey. As

Ive read lately: Intuition is the highest form of intelligence,

transcending all kind of abilities and skills. Silvia Clare

So thats all! Dont try to answer all the questions, the best de-

cision is let it go and just do what you feel you should do,

sometimes the best decisions arent into the easiest way, in-

stead they could be such a long and painful process which cer-

tainly will finish someday, of course! Not without leaving

some experiences turned into a treasured wise knowledge I

remember my grandmother used to say: The devil is wise

not for being devil but for all his years.

Influential, Nobel winners, saints, queens, heroines and mil-

lions of women around the world have contributed to make

big changes in the world turning intuition from an invisible

sense into a voice heard by crowds. Simple mothers, wives,

mates and friends who said yes to that voice with a little help

from vocation and passion together demanded and keep de-

manding for a better place to live.

Then stop and think, nothing makes you different from the

ones who are already making the difference, we dont need to

suffer in order to make big changes, is enough to let yourself

be guided by that wise inner voice and find the happiness

within you to spread it to your beloved and surrounding ones.

So never mind strategies and rigorous mental structures, this

time give the chance to your intuition be the guide through

your current situation. Once you let yourself listen carefully,

spontaneously you become a new dynamics developer instru-

ment who injects love and joy to our hopeless planet. Your

time is now!

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26/46

Denise Falcone

Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a

whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession

with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from

afar.

George Elliot

ROME-THE CITY

OF VISIBLEHISTORY

This story has wonDeltaWomen Magazine2013 Prose Competition


27/46

The blooms on the roof across the way pulled her out to her

own small balcony to stand there and inhale. If she pressed

herself against the mauve stone, she could see the River Ti-

ber winding its way through the city like a sleeping giant.

On this eve of the solstice, two thousand seven hundredand fifty-eight torches representing the number of years since

the city was founded were going to be lit along its rubbish

strewn banks.

She caught sight of her daughter in her room draping her-

self in colors before a full-length mirror.

Mommy, you have to come! Were going to wake up the

river!

She loathed public events like the plague. And on having

to slow down to an obnoxious crawl for the curious to gape at

a television crews set-up of big lights on leggy tripods, a sen-

sation of pins and needles began to take over her body.

She wrote a review about this artists work a long time

ago: Although Ms. Gomezs paintings provoke, I wonder if

underneath all the angry daubing, can she finally come toterms with her shipwrecked childhood already and tap into

the gentler, more classical force of her talent underneath all

the juvenile rebellion? We might all be happier.

Allegra Gomez, a walrus now in late middle age, was bask-

ing in the limelight ready to give her take on Romes special,

special night.

In her mind she returned to that day back in the States

when it was her turn to cover an exhibit in the ballroom of

that exhausted firetrap that stuck it out in calling itself a

landmark hotel. She remembered desperately needing

some air.

26

Rome- The City of Visible History


28/46

Where are you going? begged the dim-witted cretin as-

signed to be her slave for the day.

Outside on the veranda she drew hard on the last drag of

her cigarette and braced herself as a younger Gomez and her

entourage spilled out of a beat-up local taxi.

Who the hell are you to analyze my work, you moronic

flea?

Curse your work, Allegra.

Gomez had that glazed-over look of a maniac as she pad-

ded towards her across the lawn. The sides of her cockroach

colored overcoat flapped like a pair of wings until she landed

to kiss her hard on the mouth like a lover. It tasted sweet wasall she could think of, similar to the fly she swallowed during

a discussion with her mother on one of their Caribbean win-

ter holidays.

Mother, why do we need cloth napkins at breakfast?

Because it makes our vacation better, dear.

It makes your vacation better. Daddy doesnt give a shitand I....Ach! Ach! Fuck! I think I just ate a fly!

Later that day she let them brainwash her into toasting

drinks while lounging around the pool.

To your glamorous new career!

She posed cross-legged yoga style in her old paisley bikini

and loads of beaded necklaces. After smashing her cigarette

in the ashtray provided by an attendant, despite her mothers

pleas to stop smoking so much, her parents watched with

bug-eyed disbelief as she curved her arm up like a snake to

commence with her lecture.See? See how leaving the hair in the armpit softens the

line of the female torso? Its more pure this way, dont you

agree?

At once in his head her father began to calculate the cost

of her share of the trip. Some boys with thick pubescent

voices gathered around to inquire if she was from Europe.

Her mother qualified the whole thing as utterly ridiculous

and advised her belle cygnet not to join them for dinner or

anything else until she shaved or wore something with

sleeves.

An assortment of chatty children waded out to launch a

fleet of candles. They sailed them under the radiant dome ofthe Vatican, which warded over everything like a king,

nearby and in the distance.

Shirtless Japanese drummers were beating as if their life

depended on it. A tight-faced American movie star couple

27


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maneuvered along arm in arm pretending not to want any at-

tention. A helmeted cyclist poked his bike a couple of inches

at a time through the crushing and jolting mass. Chanters,

magicians, and practically everyone and his cousin came to

be infatuated and to rekindle their relationship to the river.

She saw him standing with a group of friends at the footof the stairs, appearing nearly a foot taller than she remem-

bered. Had he always been so bald?

One of those who could never resist the pull of his heart

into callous self-obsession, that woman over there is lovely,

isnt she? - he worked hard to play the fool. Compassion-

ately aware how he stoked his fire in a desperately lonely

place, she hung on for longer than she should have. Unbe-

knownst to him, she always understood the way to move for-

ward.

Hes here in Rome.

Under no circumstances must she let on anything out of

the ordinary. Pop a mint in her mouth, straighten her skirt

borrowed from her daughters closet, and counterfeit anotherconfidence, although lately the weight of doing that was start-

ing to get on her nerves.

A benevolent god of winds perched above it all was miffed

about how at her age she still faked it. In sensing things could

go amiss, he descended from his sacred perch to blow all the

lights out.

Benedictus. The cool liquid of a profound spirit poured

over her.

I want you to know something, she began with eyes

closed, not a day has passed that I havent thought about

you.

The stranger dripping water on her brow from a nearly

empty water bottle switched his expression from concern to

bright amusement until she grabbed his favorite soccer jersey

with her white-knuckled fist and pulled him down towards

her.You bastard!

Lady, I dont know what you are talking about! You

fainted!

The place of the night before appeared desolate now that

everyone had gone home. There was no change in the riverwhatsoever. While holding herself back from weeping for a

world devoid of miracles, she saw a child with a stick picking

up pieces of trash and stuffing them into a bag.

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LONGING


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I cant walk anymore, my feet are bleeding

The path is full of thorns and twigs

I cant cry anymore, I cant search anymore

I can hear the hoot of a horse,

But I know that you will not come on a horseStars are twinkling looking at me

Are they showing the right path to me?

Oh! No! I dont need their help anymore

I have done with my trials

Now its the time for redemption

I know that I treasure my feelings

The feelings I have got for my loved ones

I keep it inside my heart and clasp it

What I preserve is precious, the most precious

I preserve love! The real love!

Come fast and make my life worthy

My eyes are becoming black and heart into grey

Because I am holding this pain for long

I need resurrection

Resurrection of true love and life

I need glow in my eyes and happiness in my heart

I can see your shadow

But you are not there

Where did you go leaving your shadow?I will wait for you till you come

Holding your shadow and hope in my heart

Will wait for you till my end

Will wait for you till my end

30

Longing

C l C h i


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Carolyn Cornthwaite

The third time he came back was easier. She hadnt told

anyone not even Deanna that they had separated, so

accepting him back was strangely straightforward. Asever, the hardest part was the bedroom routine; not the

emotional proximity of sharing a bed (after 26 years she

had no inhibitions) but the physical annoyance of

anothers presence. The tossing, groaning, the wakeful

breathing (all of which she ignored) was now a total

distraction from her own, restful sleep.

CLEANINGINSTRUCTIONS

This Story has won thesecond place in

DeltaWomen Magazine2013 Prose Competition

Shed been washing the dishes when hed telephoned; Thurs for a wind farm She knew the plastic of the bar stools


33/46

She d been washing the dishes when he d telephoned; Thurs-

day morning (day before pay-day) and asked if he could call

in. Said they needed to chat. It was no surprise; each separa-

tion shorter than the last. The lure of his other woman, the

expectation tall, blonde, bigger breasted and ten years

younger all fell to nothing each time he moved in. Mealsout, cinema, wine-bars the excitement soon fades without

the danger and, once ensconced in her lair, the passion

fades. Not knowing when youll next meet is so much more

exciting than the perpetual waking and looking at your lover

without their glory hair knotted and lank, make-up

smudged, yesterdays breath sullying the kiss.

So shed agreed again to talk. He was early, ten minutes, and she wished shed goneout, changed the locks, made some small stance just to

prove a point. She watched him shuffle up the path

rounded shoulders, awkward gait as if he could prove his

guilt through the speed with which he reached their her

door.

She made coffee in silence, offering him only a seat atthe kitchen island, like a less-than-welcome guest. It was

where she seated the insurance salesman and that tedious

woman from down the road the one whod wanted her to

put a poster in her front window decrying the council plans

for a wind farm. She knew the plastic of the bar stools

(cheap, nasty) his choice made you sweat, leaving your

legs clammy and your mind conscious of the imprint you

would leave on rising and the knowledge of his potential dis-

comfort cheered her. So they stayed there, she topping up the

coffee, trying to remain impervious to his emotion. Youve got to believe me Lees, his voice shaking, on theverge of tears good at his tears, there isnt a moment when

I havent thought known that Ive got it wrong.

Funny how now, after 26 years, his shortening of hername hits a nerve. She tried to cast her mind back, to recall

at which point shed started to despise the pointless contrac-

tion. Each time he said it, lingered over the s, the whine of

his voice increased. As though his entire remorse was piled in

to that final consonant. And she wanted to correct him Lisa

admonish him but then he was crying. Tears actually falling

on the counter for dont men always seem worse in tears?

He had been the same the other times. A broken man.Adamant hed made the biggest mistake of his life. Howmany times can you make the biggest mistake of your life?

The first time hed come back, Lisa had been moved by his

grief. Unnerved. His emotion raw, dangerous; and taking him

32

back had seemed a given In fact she was pleased to emerge hed made the biggest mistake of his life Two months later


34/46

back had seemed a given. In fact she was pleased to emerge

victorious. That weekend they had gone shopping, hand-in-

hand, like teenagers. Shed probably gripped a little too

tightly, especially near the fish counter where Mrs Daly from

number 17 had quizzed them for an age and visiting her

mother, trying to ignore the curl of her lip as she passed himhis coffee, had jarred but, all in all, it was not so bad.

That time hed stayed six months before shed caughthim staring out of the window after receiving a text. She had

known before she grabbed his phone that his heart was else-

where although she wasnt prepared for what shed seen.

Shed left the house in tears, sought support atDeannas, described the message through choked sobs and

vowed this was the end. Theyd stayed up all night drinking

and next morning shed had the hangover from hell as she re-

turned home on a therapeutic exploration of his work ward-

robe complete with black marker pen and scissors.

The second time he came back was two days beforeNew Year. Hed skipped the kitchen truth telling, dragged herstraight to the bedroom to demonstrate his love for her. After-

wards, lying in the early winter dusk, shed wondered what it

all meant. The sanctity of marriage, for better or worse?

Hed chosen that moment to open up. Told her that Christ-

mas had made him realise how important their love was, that

he d made the biggest mistake of his life. Two months later

he was gone.

Shed been thinking about how easy these transitions were

whilst she shopped, alone, that Saturday. Even the sleeping

together (although inconvenient) was straightforward; as if,after twenty six years their bodies and their lives were some-

how unavoidably destined for one another and, all transgres-

sions aside, there was no splitting them.

She was thinking about this when shed pushed the trol-ley into the stack of Special Offer wine, so that the whole

stack went flying bottle by bottle. She noticed the red winestains on her tights a fraction before she understood what she

had done as if time had been warped, wine splashing her

tights before the bottles smashed one against the other and

all over the floor.

She was just beginning to think about what she shoulddo next had bent down to pick up one rather large offend-

ing piece of green bottle, only to be admonished by the grow-ing crowd who told her to mind her fingers when the store

manager appeared. She would not have known he was the

manager but for his badge which proclaimed the fact, him be-

ing so young looking barely even shaving and this made

her realise she was getting old. Soon she would be telling peo-

33

ple how young the police were getting or moaning that her Please dont feel a fool It was a simple statement and


35/46

ple how young the police were getting or moaning that her

doctor was barely out of nappies.

Despite his youth or because of he was very reassur-ing. Told her that it didnt matter, of course she mustnt pay

for it, was there anywhere she was hurt? He noticed her

tights and insisted that she take a pair from the clothing sec-tion, with his compliments was she sure that they couldnt

do anything else for her?

The cool air stung as she walked outside. Her bag was heavy

and, realising that she couldnt remember where she had

parked, she put it on the f loor whilst she tried to dredge upthe memory attempted to see further into her past than

that enormous crash. It was then that she heard a voice, rec-

ognised it before she turned even his voice sounded youth-

ful, lacking in the authority that a managerial post required.

She found herself wondering how he led his staff.

You left this behind, Maam. She looked at her hat, re-membered taking it off in his office as she tried to clean her-self and calm her nerves.

Oh, thank you really youve all been so kind and I feelsuch a fool.

Please, don t feel a fool. It was a simple statement and,taken word-for-word, it sounded inane, the kind of thing

every store manager would say.

She smiled then, the first one in an age, she could feel it creas-

ing her face and perhaps? adding a sparkle to her eye.

Walking into her house that evening she was surprised athow empty it felt, given that shed agreed of course shed

agreed for him to come back she would have expected it to

feel more like home again. She noted his best shoes under the

hall table already settled and his sports jacket hanging on

the rack.

She put the bag of shopping on the island, looked acrossat the barstool where hed been sitting not three nights be-

fore. Only three nights and already it felt like a lifetime.

Funny how quickly she could forget his infidelity. She knew

that, if asked, she would say they were shortly going to be

celebrating their 27th wedding anniversary, she wouldnt

knock off the months how many months? theyd spent

apart.Twenty seven years.

Does it matter how many times hes been unfaithful?How many times hes been with another? And what of all the

other years was he unfaithful then too?

34

She holds her hat in her hand, notices that its stained a watches as she cooks, tells her about the office their plans


36/46

She holds her hat in her hand, notices that it s stained adeep red on the front how did it splash so high? wonders

if it will clean.

The bar is crowded but shes glad of the anonymity. He

passes her red wine, his fingertips brushing against hers. Afleeting glance and yet she feels his feathery touch deep

within her. She wonders if he can feel it too, can he sense her

heart racing? Feel the heat that burns her neck? Is he aware

of the dampness in the small of her back. She tries not to

shake as he proposes a toast. Forty-nine years old and yet

nights out like this make her feel like a teenager again.

The day after he takes her to the seaside. Wraps his armaround her waist as he buys candy-floss and sticks of rock.

Theres a music in the way that he laughs and, watching him

now, she realises that his eyes crease when he smiles and,

rather than aging him, it makes him look soft and understand-

ing.

Things return to normality. Weekdays are as usual work,

home, cook, clean. Sometimes shell try to strike up a conver-

sation with him. Try not to notice the bald patch spreading

that shines in the kitchen lights. He drinks his wine,

watches as she cooks, tells her about the office their plans

for expansion, the major deal that he accomplished.

Well be secure for ever now Lees, no worries, just meand you. I reckon if all goes to plan you could look at retiring

early you know. Like a year or so from now. Or just go part-

time think how great that would be? She smiles at him, not the big toothy grin that she usesat weekends but the small one, the one that she knows accen-

tuates the growing thinness of her lips. She smiles at him and

wonders if he will go completely bald.

Part-time? Perhaps Id get bored? Its not really a ques-tion. She grabs a cloth, wipes the oil splashes from aroundthe side of the hob.

No I mean it would take some getting used to but youknow you wouldnt be running around frazzled, cooking,

trying to clean at the weekends or whenever you have a spare

five minutes. You could start baking your own bread again.

And now shes scrubbing at the oil splats and wonderingwhere her wine glass is and how much red wine it will take toblock out his fantasies.

Most evenings they dont talk so much.

At the weekends she makes an effort. Wears new clothes,

spends a bit longer with her make-up. Talks about fun things.

35

Apart from breakfast (which she doesnt care too much for Yet this time his face is different. As though he had


37/46

p (

lately) meals are mostly eaten out. Fish and chips eaten di-

rectly from the paper, cuddled up on a bench overlooking the

sea. She tingles as he rubs his shoulder against hers. The

press of his thigh against hers reminds her of other times

private times transports her to her youth.She remembers walks in the park, kissing under the

streetlight back jammed uncomfortably against the steel

lying on the grass in the park in the fading dusk of spring.

The smell of new grass, the feel of damp soil just edging its

way into her jeans.

Its funny how much of life is forgotten when marriage takes

over.

She knows the speech by heart now, sitting perched on the

end of her barstool. Trying to look him in the eye rather than

stare at his bald patch. Surely its not bigger again?

Its not working I really wanted it to but it isnt. The first time his words had seemed to fill the kitchen its always in the kitchen bouncing off the walls and coming

back to land somewhere on the island so that each time she

chops veg, prepares meat, packs her lunch for work she sees

them written there etched in the wood.

g

never heard them himself before. She notes that his top lip is

trembling.

Ive met someone someone younger I know, thatsounds ridiculous has to sound ridiculous but thats how it

is and Hes shaking his head, she knows hes going to cry buthopes he wont doesnt think she can cope if he does. These

conversations are old hat now, theres been so many but if he

were to cry this time

And these past months, Ive felt younger and and Iverealised that there is something more to life. Dont you under-stand? Havent you felt it too?

Now his head is in his hands and hes bawling up his in-sides and she wonders but pushes it to the back of her

mind if shes done the right thing.

But then shes holding her hat, the one with the red wine

stain, and looking at the care label. She can still see his

phone number, right where hed written it in blue ball pointand his spidery handwriting.

Call me?

36


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WOMENSWORK


39/46

Work manipulated issues in the global world, could be more

sever than could control any other. Womens word different

from mens, they have more works but they are alone because

of waiting someone who love her by his soul, and could be

more difficult for women to cover their tears against the hu-manitarian violence that ahead with them. Womens now a

days, can work as a president in such states( India, Sonia Gan-

dhi), secretary of state( U.S, Hillary Clinton), and womens

also work for the peace in the world ( Aung Sang Suu Kyi).

The women can work for the world, but the world on the be-

half also want more than that from them. On the regards oftheir works for control on human rights violation in different

regions. In the 20th century, the women can be an important

actor could be supposed an important factor for the society.

Most industrial and developed states could emerged their

womens to be an equal part in their society. In South Africa

and Asian states (Pakistan, Maldives etc.) dont want to give a

chance for promote their selves in their society for improve

their skills and share their knowledge and technology with

others. Womens can be an hard work which can control thesociety by their finger moves & could be an great inspiration

in the society for the world. In todays world women than the

past world women, there could be more difference to watch

that never be fulfill because of culture and technology and

knowledge make the bridge for not to come back but just to

go forward.

Womens can be a great source for the knowledge in the fu-

ture, because todays women can work more than any other

human being. Naturally, womens, girls, mom and grand

mom in all these phases women manage their selves in an in-

38

Womens Work

digenous conditions because of their patients, kindness, and In todays word, womens strength in school, colleges and uni-


40/46

braveness. No doubt, Womens are strong but they also weak

according to their relationship, but after passing the time

women of the society more supreme in nature, on some cases

started in different parts of the world. Female gender should

be located very politely, respectfully. Womens and mans are

together make a young that will be an asset for world. It will

be possible if the women didnt locate her child carefully and

take care of their childrens. About the asset Sonia Gandhi

head of the Indian state. She had an ability to run a state, so

Indian peoples elected her as a president of India. After time

Aung Sand Suu Kyi, she is the head of the democratic party

in Burma, and she had exiled so many years but she continue

her works for the peace in the world, on the behalf of her

work she rewarded many awards in the past. Womens sup-

posed to be a light in the mans life, because female do every-

thing that mans want it. But rather on the good for their

childs or their owns. Womens can do more work for their so-

ciety to control peace, stability, equality and humanitarian

violence.

versities are more than boys in all over the world. Radically

changes in the education field effected the population

growth, and it also effect on social phase. Circumstances of

womens right developed after the violent in the world against

women. Womens also help as a house wife by doing job to

continue support her home neither itll be no time for the rest

for her but she want herself a good housewife. According to

the present mens thought, their wives should be beautiful,

clever, charming and more than she will survive in the bad

circumstance that will be appear on them. Womens are like

rays of light, a shadow, and a good example for patients .

Womens as a sister, a good supporter for her home in the ab-

sence of mom. And women word is a respectful name for the

whole word that should be locate as a great respect for mans

not to control on the womens life. This should be suppose for

all over the world womens as an un-respectful manner.

39

Daniela Silva


41/46

Daniela Silva

How to filter the accumulation of information we receive

on a daily basis?

Knowledge is different from information. First, it hasa set of data about a particular subject. These analyzed

data become information, and finally, once filtered this

information, turn it into knowledge.

ISSUES:

DISTRIBUTINGTHE NEWS

Our brain is faced with different types of information. Infor- story, our achievements, our obstacles will really define who


42/46

mation that needs to be edited and reedited until becoming

the knowledge that we need so much in our lives. To have

meaning, knowledge must be related to our reality with our

worldview.

Knowledge can be understood as what we get in thebooks, classes and relationships. Having an understanding of

what is happening around us, the individual develops a more

critical posture in the society of which we are part.

However, for there to be a management of this knowl-edge, it is necessary that this knowledge be multiplied, distrib-uted, and ultimately to be shared and disseminated, becomes

news.

The news comes into our lives to inform us, to form usas citizens that we are, to put us in social groups, but mainly

to make us into life, allowing each person to build opinions,

values and beliefs.

However, the way news is distributed and how you re-ceive will contribute to your growth and development, be-

cause there is a big difference between news and catastrophe,

pain and hope, courage and fear. The way we report our life

we will be in this world, and what will be the mark we leave

where we pass.

There are two ways of looking at life: it sees gray, cloudy and

lifeless; see colorful the life. Choose therefore the life and live

life and be the change that you want in the world!

Some say that life is made of pages, but the truth is that each

phase experienced in our childhood or youth, become issues

that give rise to experience that, when queried with prudence

has the power to guide us, in no more hurt. For this reason,

we must distribute the issues in the form of news of our lives,to take love and hope to those in need.

41


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CREDITS


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CEO

Elsie Reed

Editors

Elaheh Zohrevandi

Kirthi Jayakumar

Photographers

Effat Allahyari

Marjan Seyedan

Cover Art

Aref Roodbari Shamiri

Contributors

Laze Lyeh Cndida

Kirthi Jayakumar

Mohammed R. Monifi

Fernanda Matricardi

Paromita Bardoloi

Aswathy Mariyam Mathew

Natalia Gmez

Denise Falcone

Carolyn Cornthwaite

Furqan ahmed

Daniela Silva

xliv


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