Beneath Doña Bárbara

When Mary and I met up this week the first thing she said was she wanted to talk about her work with the ERA some more. She told me that after reading the adamant it really ignited something within her and that she couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for women to be treated the equally as everyone else. She work only green and white for five years and for two years she picketed at a mormon temple in Bellevue, Washington. She also when to Utah as an ERA missionary to talk with women about equal rights. She said she continued on with her Civil Disobedience and modeled her behavior after Alice Paul one of the founders of the National Woman’s Party.

Arnold Friend grabbed her arm then half pulling, half dragging an emotionless Connie from the door step. "My sweet little blue-eyed girl," he repeated when he got close to his car. At this Connie woke from her trance and realized the mistake she was making.

It was a dark and stormy night, when Annabelle Heinsdorff was born by a water stream, 5 years ago. Her mother May ran ,she knew someone was watching her somehow. It was unacceptable, in her town. Annabelle never knew her parents, she wanted to meet them, but never knew how to get out of the house without passing by Madam. Madam Hailey always sat in her chair in the lounging area, with Fluffy ,her cat, in her lap. As Annabelle headed to school, in a place near Salem where the teachers were bile, she grab a piece of parchment and wrote a letter to her father, hoping would someday get.

In November of 2014 my aunt tragically took her own life. That day I got a tearful phone call from my dad; I could feel his heart breaking as the words came out of his mouth. I held back tears as I drove to his office to be with him, knowing that in this moment I had to be strong for my dad. Together, heavy-hearted, we went and broke the news to my grandparents. During a time of year when most people prepare to gather together with loved ones to celebrate the holidays, my family and I were unexpectedly thrown into a period of mourning. My grandmother asked again and again why Joanie did what she did. I was at a loss for words. I had no answers. I still don’t.

I called and called, left countless voicemails, attempting to get in contact. To win her back. No response. Eventually, a restraining order was filed. Ha.

"Thanks. I'm living with Melody and her parents now, so it all worked out for the best."

I’ve always known that i have a big heart… Just the thought of helping people fills my heart with joy, but actually doing the act makes me feel like i am on top of the world….

In my junior year of high school, I started dating a girl with whom I would get into a serious relationship with. We grew close and shared our deepest secrets, and I genuinely loved this girl. However, this relationship shattered when I found our she had cheated on me by sleeping with my best friend. I was in a dark place after the event. I retracted myself from society and locked myself in my room only to come out for food. I became cold and saw the world as a cruel joke placed upon its inhabitants. I believed everyone had a side of evil, and that I could trust no one. However, I spent a week of that summer in a program called Marianist LIFE. The program preached to its participants to build Christian communities. There I met kindhearted people

I was in the sixth grade when I met my social studies teacher Mrs. J.R.; she was a different breed. She wasn’t there to just collect a check but to help us succeed and to reassure us of our admirability. She would stand in front of the class and teach until everyone hand went down but she didn’t stop there. Mrs. J.R. became my confidant. I would confide in her about how other girls made fun of me for the big bows I wore in my thick wild hair and my neon color tube socks. Mrs. J.R. would say things like "they're just jealous because they don't have big colorful bows and long pretty hair.” She would always know just what to say and on gloomy days you could find me on the second floor sixth grade hall in Mrs. J.R. room doing my work sitting

The tragic end of the beautiful Andrea Gail and the fate of all the lives on that boat is yet unknown. In the meantime, my last thought at this point of the story is I’ve come to the conclusion that the more often you go out, the more likely you are to never come back. The only way to guard against these dangers is to stop rolling the dice.

This opposition would suggest that Bourdieu is talking about a kind of spiritual violence or idealism, which is not the case. To be sure, Bourdieu’s notion has to do with the symbolic as a social reality, but also as a reality that takes root in the body—as it is somatized. For Bourdieu, symbolic violence is “the violence which is exercised upon a social agent with his or her complicity.” The language of complicity here is not a way of attributing conscious agency or volitional responsibility to those who are subjected to violence—as if to blame the victim. Rather, it is to suggest that while social agents are agents with consciousness and will, and moreover are also subjected to structural determinisms within their given social reality, they nevertheless contribute to “that which determines them insofar as they structure what determines them.” What is at stake for Bourdieu is the way in which violence of the dominant enacted against the dominated involves not simply a kind of structural violence on the part of the dominant, and not at all—whether by consciousness or will—consent on the part of the dominated, but cognitive and bodily structures that have been made open to the structures of domination. In other words, structural determinants and violence fit the modes of perception available to dominated peoples which contributes to and exacerbates the conditions of

I interviewed Mrs.Sanchez aka my mom about 9/11. She usually didn't like to talk about that type of personal stuff. Sometimes she just had bad memory or she just keeps her stuffed to herself, but this time she had made an exception. So I started of asking her some questions.”How old were you in september 11, 2011?” I asked Mrs.Sanchez. She had replied that she was about sixteen years old at that time. My mom back then used to live in a farm/ranch and helped my grandparents grow crops and raise the cattle. She had been doing her daily routine. Not so long after that my mom had told me that she had been riding the tractor back home. She said that my gram had something important to show her. When my mom had gotten home she seen what was on TV.

In her life story, Keller broke her new doll that she received on purpose. Which made her feel superior now, but did not realize what the doll truly symbolized. The shattering of the doll made Keller feel sadden for she knew that every person has a name, making her feel like she destroyed something that she made feel unwanted. All what Miss Sullivan was teaching Keller was that the doll had a name. Without their name, they were only items that no one bothered to name. Everything has a name which is what gives the items purpose of being alive. The purpose of naming people, for example, is giving them a sense of identity. Identity is what shapes an individual for every name gives a different meaning. Such as my name, Ashley, is derived from nature.

Near the end of eighth grade year, around noon on a Wednesday, lunch was just beginning as we grabbed our multi-colored lunch boxes and sat them down on the glossy, brown desks. As my three, closest friends and I looked up, we noticed the seventh grade lunch monitor taking pictures with his iPhone 5s for the yearbook. As we stood in the back of the heavily decorated room he caught our attention. “Hey! Look up.” Cheyenne, the second tallest, said. The four of us decided to strike different poses in the midst of the picture being taken.

Maria lay there for a moment, gazing up at Jack, her heart still pounding and her breath still stuck in her throat. He was dressed in a ragged white shirt covered and smeared in bits of dirt, patched brown pants, and a rough gray jacket; he walked barefoot, his feet stuck with pieces of mud and grass. But his face was what caught Maria’s eye. He was the most handsome boy she had ever seen. His face was finely shaped, and set with a pair of radiant eyes that gazed down at her, glowing like crystal balls in the moonlight.