rape culture (n.)

rape culture: (n.) a concept in which rape is pervasive and noramlized due to societal attitudes about gender and sexuality

The topic of rape is littered with common misconceptions. Here’s one: The Stranger Myth. Perpetrators are rarely random men lurking in alleyways. The 2010 CDC report on Sexual Violence found that over half of female rapes were inflicted by intimate partners. Over half of male victims were raped by acquaintances.

There’s one thing that binds both female and male victims together: the fact that it is not their fault. They weren’t the ones out raping others. The rapists were, 97% of who will never spend a single day in jail.

Back in April, when I was telling some of my friends about my TEN Talk topic, I got a lot of mixed reactions. Some were genuinely excited. Many others, however, were visibly discomforted. I’d tell them I was doing rape culture, and then they’d be like, “…oh.”

That’s the thing. If it’s awkward or even taboo to talk about rape on an English assignment level, how much harder would it be to talk about rape to actual rape victims? When we, as a society, turn a blind eye to sensitive subjects, we create a veil of silence that makes it even harder for victims to report their abusers.

Rape isn’t going to just disappear. But if we stop ignoring or even joking about rape and start listening to our victims instead of blaming them, then we can make progress.

o – o – o

(Aaand that was my snippet of a presentation I participated in last May with two of my fellow classmates. It’s called TEN Talks, because I was in tenth grade at the time, and also because puns make the world go ‘round. Sorry if it was weird to read; it was written in the format of a speech.)

First off, yes, there is argument over whether or not rape culture exists. Are victims actually mistreated over their supposed histories of sexual abuse? Or is this another ploy those feminazis cooked up to push men into submission?

I have followed under my personal belief that rape culture is real. It’s there in the streets and alleyways and sidewalks of my city, and I know that, because I see it around me. I suppose you could say I may be over-analyzing, calling something by the wrong name. That’s okay. You are entitled to your own opinion, just as I am entitled to mine.

But anyhow. Word for Wednesday: rape culture. See you next week.

Word for Wednesday, yo! Couldn’t participate in it last Wednesday, because I was out and away at business camp.

✪ Angie

popular (adj.)

popular: (adj.) liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.

If I go by the Google definition, then all the so-called “popular kids” at my school truly aren’t that popular. They are the societal beauties, the children of rich parents, the fashionable, the materialistic, the often-not-too-bright-upstairs type of people. But they aren’t popular. They aren’t well-liked, or admired, or… enjoyed. Some people might aspire to be like them- either because of their appealing appearances or because of their guise of popularity, but either way, they’re not popular.

I was walking to my math class one day, and I happened to walk behind this other girl. She was tall, dressed in vibrant clothing and a pair of stellar heels, and she was probably a grade or two above me. I walked behind her for less than two minutes, but it seemed like everyone who passed greeted her in some way. At least ten people said hi. That girl, whoever she was, was not “popular” in the generic, fake-tan, bleached-blonde sense, but she was clearly liked, admired, and enjoyed. That, to me (and to Google), is true popularity.

This week’s Word for Wednesday.

✪ Angie

feminism (n.)


feminism: (n.) the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men

If you had asked me, at age 12, whether or not I was a feminist, I would have told you no. I would have told you that no, I am not one of them. I don’t hate on men. I don’t burn my little training bras nor do I walk around downtown New York, barechested and angry.

Three years later, I’m still very much the same. I don’t hate on men. I don’t burn my normal bras. I don’t prance around the streets in some kind of militant nudity, and I’ve never been to New York. I would say, however, that I am a feminist. What I am not, is a misandrist.

Google tells it to you straight. Feminism is about equality, not superiority. And for my second contribution to Word for Wednesday, my challenge to you all (on both a social and a literary perspective) is to rethink your definition of feminism.

So what does feminism mean to you? Do you see it as I once did, as this radical protest for male servitude and female dominance? Or do you see it the way the dictionary does- a revolution for equal rights on the grounds of sex? Either way, think about it. My challenge to you.

(Of course, if you inherently believe that women ought to be “lower” than men, then that’s your opinion. And there are many people like you very close in my life, and while it’s utterly disappointing as a girl whose opportunities are stripped away from her simply due to her sex, it’s still your opinion.)

Word for Wednesday! Twisted it a little this week, but hope that’s okay.

✪ Angie

ineffable (adj.)

Expressive Typographyineffable: (adj.) too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words

There’s something ineffable about the word ‘ineffable’; like it’s denotation, ‘ineffable’ stands for something greater, something more brilliant, something indescribable.

Her beauty is ineffable.

At that moment, my happiness was ineffable.

His anguish was ineffable.

It’s the extremeness of emotions or dispositions that warrants the use of the word ‘ineffable’. To which I can only say:

Life is ineffable.

(Perhaps that’s why we try to describe with our many words, yet nothing seems to illustrate quite as well the magnitude of living.)

I’m on a roll this week! First time trying out Word for Wednesday.

✪ Angie

✞ – 1 timothy 1:15


Consider these two contrasting yet congruent beliefs:

1) “I do this wrong, I do that wrong. I am utter trash.”

It’s easy to hate yourself, but it’s important to recognize all the good things about you. You were made in God’s image. You are not a mistake, as much as you may wish to believe so. As Timothy writes in 1 Timothy 1:15, Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners- of whom I am the worst. Even the most deplorable villain can be saved; you can be forgiven too.

2) “That person does this wrong, they do that wrong. They’re utter trash.”

I will be the first to admit that I judge others on their mistakes and faults. It usually isn’t out of a religious context, but either way, I’m assuming a false sense of holiness. No one is better or worse human being than you, no matter what they have or have not done. All God sees is your sin- sin that can be forgiven.


Stole this off the ‘net. But I think it illustrates my points well.

It’s very popular to judge others on the “severity” of their sinfulness, but at the end of the day, we’re all sinners. So if you take anything away from this post, let it be this:

Everyone is equal. 

Which means two things:

  1. You are just as good as anyone else. So don’t hate yourself. Jesus is not exclusive; he died for all sinners. He died for you.
  2. No one is worse than you. So don’t judge them when you yourself are stained with your own sins.

And, so yeah. That’s all I have for today. Sorry for the possibly preachy tone (I’m new to this, although I suppose that’s not a viable excuse). God bless~

For “Word of God Sunday“. Art by Leon Detroy “Landscape of Agay”. 

✪ Angie

mad as a hatter – “salted caramel is no excuse for passive-aggressiveness”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”

You know that feeling when your insides burn up to indescribable temperatures? When your ears start ringing and your eyes glaze red? It’s as if you’re a volcano, just fidgeting to erupt into a slew of lava and profanities.

Now, I don’t mean that you have a fever, tinnitus, pink-eye, or even Crohn’s. No. This is not a physiological disease I speak of. Not just a diagnosable blimp in your health. This is the essence of fury. You, my friend, are as mad as a hatter. I don’t write that to mean ‘insane’. In simpler terms: u mad, bro. And that wasn’t even a question.

Oh, rage- rage that sends hands into shaking fits, rage that clenches fists poised to chuck books at walls, rage that flies into a long line of a opinionated exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We’ve all had our fair share of anger, or, perhaps on a deeper level, anger issues. I raise my hand for the latter part, especially- guilty as charged.

When trust is betrayed and feelings are trampled, my familiar, wrathful friend understandably likes to resurface. But when minor annoyances fling me into a fit, I can’t help but wonder why. A poorly-behaved, five-year-old child throws a tantrum when she is refused a second popsicle. Why is that I, ten years older yet not quite wiser, throw my own [generally more internalized] tantrums when life doesn’t go my way? Waiting ten extra seconds for a page that doesn’t load as fast I’d like is no big accomplishment, yet it seems I cannot do so without having an urge to slip-slap the screen.

That’s just a small example. In my current, not-so-angry state (although that’s subject to change thanks to my recent discovery that my brother devoured my share of salted caramel frozen yogurt and lied about it),  I find it important to reflect upon all the [regrettably silly] things that anger me in my day-to-day life. Even the more serious, laughless circumstances in my life shouldn’t need to send me into an ire-ful spiral. And to think that minuscule happenings, like coffee-table toe-stubbings or even the depletion of my dessert allowance, have the power to stir up a childlike temper within me- well, it just makes me mad.

(Let’s all smile and have a good time. And maybe not procrastinate on hw the way I am rn.)

✪ Angie

P.S. Art belongs to darkcla. One day, I will draw my own cover images. But that day is not today.

interplanet janet – “distant earth”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Interplanet Janet.”

A mass of earth and water charges its course, blurring into an ellipse of a journey as it encircles the comparably giant, yellow star. Closing in upon the smaller planet, we find forms of green and blue, half-covered by wisps of white clouds above. This is home to an abundance (of Katherines, the writer tries to interject, but no) of flora, fauna, and peculiar, upright creatures. Homo sapiens is what they are called, but because Latin is a dead language, the writer will simply refer to them as ‘humans’.

Two billion of these particular humans roam the grounds of this particular planet. They live in relative peace and harmony, divided in landbound sects of differing cultures. They are mindful of the environment in which they live, careful as to not disturb too much the flow of nature their predecessors oh-so-stupidly had.

The weather, although considerably different between the two halves of the planet, is far more composed than the weather patterns the humans in year 2015 experienced. To the more superstitious inhabitants of this earth, it is karma; the humans treat the world kindly, and the world does its best to not upset them with too many natural disasters.

Although the humans diverge in appearance, lifestyle, and even core beliefs, there is a sense of unity among them, an almost-utopian amity. Perhaps this is what sets them apart from those that came before them; out of the destruction wrought by ignorance and the ferocity of the proud was born a people willing to hold hands with former “enemies”. Out of the ruins and the fiery shambles, a phoenix emerged. It is a supernatural, seemingly impossible creature.

The writer only wonders, with an unforgiving doubt within her chest, whether or not such a myth can become a reality.

Won’t be doing these everyday, but this was fun. Feedback is always appreciated. I’m on a quest to become a better writer/communicater. 🙂