personal narrative

Renluka Maharaj

Personal Narrative

Two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while have gotten together for dinner at the woman’s apartment (Vimla).  Her friend Raj is happy to see her.     

Vimla:  Thank you so much for taking the time away from work to meet me for                     dinner

Raj:  It was great to finally have some time alone and catch up with you, how is your            dad?

Vimla: He is doing great but we are not getting along these days, especially because he has been beating up on mom again.

Raj: I am sorry to hear that, I thought those days were over.

Vimla: I guess not, it just keeps resurfacing every now and again and until then we are all walking around on eggshells.

Raj: Well perhaps if your Mom would stop working like he wants her too and stay home and take care of the house and kids, things would be different.  He only wants what’s best for her.  My mom stays at home and my dad is the sole breadwinner I don't see anything wrong with that.

Vimla:  I am surprised to hear you say that; I thought you were a little more progressive than that.  You were born in the United States! 

Raj: That doesn't mean I don't believe in the old ways of having a family and relationship!

Vimla: Well I can see that, how disappointing. 

Raj: I am just a simple man with simple wants and desires that's all.  I think everyone has a role to fill and it’s easier to know where the boundaries are.

Vimla: Okay, but how does it feel then that you are alone here with me in my apartment and we are not married.

Raj: I like it its fine because its what I want. 

Vimla: What does that mean?  Does it mean that no matter what as long as you get what you want its okay, isn’t that hypocritical?

Raj gets up and walks over to Vimla touching her hair and face, running his fingers along her neck and toward her breasts.  She begins to feel uncomfortable and tells him to stop.

Vimla: Please stop Raj I don't feel comfortable right now, I know we are long time friends but that doesn't give you the right to come over and touch me in appropriately.

Raj: Well, its like I said, its what I want.

At that moment, he grabs her by the hair and pushes her face in toward his crotch, he holds her fast and hard and she cant breathe, and she starts to fight.

Vimla: I want you to stop; please you’re hurting me, let go, LET GO, LET GO!

Raj: I wont until you do as I say, you're a slut! You invite me over to your place alone and don't expect me to think there isn’t more you are looking for!

Vimla: Please Raj Please don't hurt me I wont tell anyone if you just walk away and leave now.  I wont tell your parents or my parents, I wont tell your friends.  I just want you to stop and leave.

Raj: I don't care whom you tell, I am the man here and I am sure whatever I do will be okay with everyone we know.  You are supposed to be a nice, Hindu girl and you invite a man up to your apartment, off course you want to be Fucked! 

Vimla: I need you to stop, don't touch me there! (She picks up a vase and hits him over the head with it, he falls momentarily but gets back up and hits her very hard in the face)

Raj: I’ll show you how to fight! (He hits her over and over again; throwing her to the floor and kicking her until she cant breathe)

There continues to be a very violent confrontation between Raj and Vimla but she knows this abuse, she has been there many times before and now she will stand up for herself and do something about it…

Going through life knowing that your family, culture and society get to dictate who you are is infuriating.  I grew up being told I couldn't wear pants, only boys did that; I couldn't ride a bike, or go swimming because I was not allowed to wear a bathing suit; God forbid I show my skinny little legs to anyone on the beach, it would mean I was inviting them to Fuck ME! 

So, off course I asked one of my sisters to sew me a pair of pants and she did, I wore them and paraded them in front of my house, until my mom came home, saw what I was wearing, beat the shit out of me and cut them up into little pieces.  NO one came to my rescue because I was asking for it. 

Vimla is asking for it because she was also wearing the pants!

JAJ-MultiModal

https://vimeo.com/90494062

Rachel Vargas' Multimodal

https://vimeo.com/90580355

The Evolution of My Thoughts 

Why is it bright? What is that smell? Why does it hurt? Why are they touching me? Where am I? What do they need? What are they thinking? When will I be warm? What are these shadows? Why are they moving so quickly? Where are these noises coming from? When will it stop?

How old am I? How do I spell my name? What is good? What is bad? What is happy? What are words? Why does everything need to be identified by words? Why are mom and dad leaving? When will they be home? Where is my home? What is my address? Who’s my best friend? What do they think of me? Will I fit in? How do I tie my shoes? Will I ever learn? Do I like sports? Will I excel in sports?  Will my parents be proud?

Where do I want to be in five years? Where will I end up? Where will I live? Will I have a partner? Will I ever get married?  How do I know you? Where did I meet you? Do you think I’m attractive? Am I attracted to you? What is sexuality? What is my sexuality? Why do I feel like this? Does anyone else feel like this? Is this normal? Do they think I am normal? Why do I question myself so much? Will he call me? Will he text me? Does he care? Why do I care so much? 

What are they wearing? Where did they get it? Do they think they look good? Do I look good? Why are we here? Will anyone notice that I am here? Why is there a never-ending need for answers and solutions? Why do we pay so much attention to superficial and materialistic items?  Why are people greedy?

Why is death called death? Why are people so afraid of the word and its meaning? Why isn’t it called cleansing? Why does the word bear positive and negative meanings, depending on its context? For that matter, why is anything bad for you if ultimately, everyone’s fate is the same? How long will I live? How will I die? Will I be buried or cremated? What is religion? Which religion do I conform to? Do people use religion as a vehicle to explain the unexplainable? What do I believe in? What is faith? Why aren’t there definite answers? Why are people pushing this? Where do we come from? Why do we care? What’s next? What is fear? Why do we live in fear of the inevitable?

Why are we named? Why do we have numbers attached to our identity? Why are people judgmental? Why are people insecure? Why did she tell her that? Will she find out? What is wrong? Why do we read? Why do we retain information? Is it to learn? Is it to transform? Is it to shape?  Is it to evolve? Why help others? Why not be kind to everyone? Why not love? Why kill? Why guns? Why violence? Is it not natural? Why do some feel this urge and others do not? Who’s to blame? Is it simply nature’s fault? Is it the doing of a higher power? Does it matter? Doesn’t everything share the same fate? Does anything happen when you die? Do I return to the Earth as a different being? Will I come back as dirt? Will my decedents live on top of me? Will they know I am there?

  Why do people deny the reality of global warming? Why don’t they open their eyes? Why don’t people listen to the research scientists? Are they just ignorant? Are they less developed? Are they afraid? Why wouldn’t they care? Why should they care? Will life continue to diversify anyways? Will there be another Ice Age? Will the continents reconfigure into another supercontinent? Will humans continue to exist? Will they be like us? Will they fly throughout the universe? Will they live on different planets? Will Earth ever be destroyed? Will Earth ever be uninhabitable? Will any one challenge my ideas? Will I be swayed? Will I learn? Will I develop? Will I evolve? What about humanity? Will life begin a different cycle? Will it implode all together?

Guardian Angel - correct version

https://vimeo.com/89420497

Guardian Angel by Jesalyn Emerson

Ryan's Energy- Sydney Buring Multimodal

https://vimeo.com/89026907

For twenty years, I took my ‘time’ for granted. I spent most of it in my subconscious, watching everything around me speed by. I always wondered, “Shouldn’t time slow down once you are conscious enough to realize how fast it goes by?”

         I was most certain that I was dreaming the night of September 5^th. I never thought it could happen to me. I suppose, in a sense, I felt invincible; nothing could affect me—no one could affect me like that. When he left, I was overwhelmed with emptiness and could not come to terms with my own thoughts. I was suffocating and could not figure out which would help me breathe easier: keeping him situated on the pedestal I had placed him on two years earlier when I first met him, or, trying to convince myself that maybe I was crazy and had been completely wrong about this ‘sacred’ soul I thought I had come across.

         But it was all out of my hands when reality hit and suddenly I found myself bending down on my first kneeler to touch his frigid hands. He no longer inhabited his body anymore—anyone who knew him could tell that the overwhelming energy that we had all been swayed by was completely inexistent. But where did it all go?

         Time stood still for about two months before self-pity dragged us off the couch. For everyone unaffected, time was still flying, and sympathy grew weaker. Strangers could only pretend for so long that their advice was being heard.  

         Over time, Ryan became a double-edged sword for me. His sporadic appearances in my dreams were comforting, but each time I woke up yearning to feel his tremendous glow. I was thrown into this obstacle of trying to move on but the dream state easily became the most important part of my day. I woke up and instantly wanted to fall back asleep to find him again. My priorities were completely skewed and I could not care less. I wanted to keep hold of his energy, because I felt as if it was slipping away. 

         “No energy gets created in the universe, and none is ever destroyed.” I had to keep reminding myself of this. Over time, I realized not a bit of him was gone; he was just less orderly. Particles of matter, not destroyed, just dispersed. The matter that is my current burning issue, will continue to be a ‘matter’ until the day I, myself, disperse.

Alex Kugelman Multimodal

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUhMSjtBv9k

Its 3:30 and I’m unconsciously walking into a class that starts at 3. I care enough to be angry at myself for being late but not enough to be on time. Sometimes it feels like I’m a slave to my schedule and that my only purpose is to sit and take notes. Other times it feels like I am just wondering through my own brain searching for sidetracked ideas to keep me content throughout a class. Sometimes I take education for granted, especially in pre-requisite classes that I’m forced into taking. Sometimes I complain about how unfair and unjust the institution of education is and how we’re all just subjects in the system. And other times I just shut up and realize how lucky I am to be able to receive an education. When you’re a creative writing major in a class titled “Places, Power and Culture” you sometimes find yourself punching the walls of your brain out of frustration and asking yourself “what are you doing in here?” or “why are you sitting in class right now?” I often think, “What’s the point? The world could end at any second” but the world doesn’t end when I think that. Everything just keeps moving and I have to find a way to keep myself entertained. Like a lot of other kids my age I turn to social media for validation and entertainment. Twitter is a great way to not only get the thoughts out of your head but to also have your peers evaluate those thoughts. Twitter turns your thought process into a joke machine and enables your brain to turn any passing thought into a well structured joke. Needless to say I spend way too much time on twitter. The social media site helps me bounce my thoughts around and is great for keeping me entertained during my pre-requisite classes. My anxiety creeps up through back of my mind as I take, what I interpret as; copious notes and I find sweet relief in the fact that there is no quiz in class today. The comforting feeling that I am not going to be judged on my performance and knowledge of a very specific subject is pulled from under me as my professor instructs everyone to rip out a single sheet of paper for a quiz. A brief moment of panic sets in as the reality of the situation builds with my anxiety. I talk myself out of this panic of failing the quiz and potentially the class by justifying my lack of studying. This justification leads to another string of thoughts that have nothing to do with the task at hand and I am consumed by a rushing river of random thought. Maybe I should just leave? Tell him I’m not feeling well and go home, finish the quiz another day? No, I can’t do that, I have to face my fears had on. Not like this guy. What’s his problem anyway? Why would he give us this quiz? Who hurt him? There are no random quizzes there is a very specific reason that he would give us this quiz. There is a reason I’m in this class and there’s a reason he’s testing us. A wide range of knowledge is needed to achieve anything in this world.  This quiz is just a speed bump, I might as well turn in what I don’t know and go back to doing what I do know. Reading tweet after tweet, I am content until the end of class.

To Our Giants - Multimodal Project

https://vimeo.com/home/myvideos

I was always getting sick as a kid and I hated it. Anytime I was forced to stay in bed, away from the real world, I would pout and whine and cry until one of my sisters came to keep me company. One day, I was sitting in my bed, crying over my weak immune system, when there was a knock on my door. It was my older sister, Sarah, holding the most magnificent cup of hot chocolate I had ever seen. She climbed in bed with me and held me until my tears stopped. Then she told me a story: Jack and Dan’s Adventure of Epic Proportion. I eventually fell asleep to the sound of her voice. 

Sarah has always loved telling stories. It was her thing I guess. The way she looks at the world, although twisted sometimes, is nothing short of brilliant. Growing up, the turtle crossing our street wasn’t just a turtle. It was Charles Winklemeyer, on a dangerous trek across the world. The tree in our backyard was an intergalactic voyager that we all must board before Earth is destroyed. And Sarah. She wasn’t Sarah. She wasn’t the troubled girl struggling with bipolar disorder who probably wouldn’t finish high school. Instead, she was Robin Hood, Hercules, Don Quixote. She was a strong and powerful knight, ready to take on any giant. 

As I grew up, I became aware of Sarah’s deflections from her real life. She was so afraid of failing that she lived in a fantasy where nothing could touch her. To her, she was strong and alive. T0 me she was stuck in her own imagination. As we grew up, the world became uglier, harder, as it does for all children on their way to adults. Her stories began to change. Facing real giants altered her view on life. Her writing became darker, deeper.  She wrote with passion, drive, heart and it was real this time. Not a made up fantasy. It was brilliant for a while. She was brilliant. Until she wasn’t anymore. See thats the curse of any illness. You can have a hundred good days, but there will always be a bad one to even it out. 

One day, I got a call from Sarah. She was drunk, out of her mind with paranoia and despair. I picked her up and brought her home. She was rambling, her mind racing. It wouldn’t stop. She plead to me to make it stop, so I did the only thing I could think of. I held her close until her tears stopped, then told her the story of Jack and Dan and their adventure of Epic Proportion. I’m not quite sure I did it justice, but this time she fell asleep to my voice. 

She will always struggle with anxiety so strong that she can’t leave the house. Depression so heavy that she can’t lift her head off the pillow. But, hopefully this won’t stop her stories. Whether she’s writing to try and escape her reality or face it, it is her way of coping with this fucked up world we live in, and who is anyone to deny a person of that? 

Snippets Of A Dream - A Short Film by Chloe Besson

Snippets of a Dream - a short film by CJB


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voIcOnQspe8&feature=youtu.be

Chloé Besson

WRTG 3007

Personal Narrative

January 21, 2014

____________

I have had several vivid and reoccurring dreams in my life.

My teeth fall.

They fall and they crumble.

I touch my mouth.

Why does it feel that way?

Like my teeth are just dropping.

I have had several vivid and reoccurring dreams in my life.

I try to get somewhere.

Yet the pressure weighs down.

I run faster.

Why does it feel that way?

Like weights tied to my ankles.

__________

            I have had several vivid and reoccurring dreams in my life. Often when I dream, I experience situations where my teeth are loose and without difficulty crumble from my jaw and gums. I touch my mouth as I wonder why it feels that way, and my teeth just fall.

            If my teeth aren’t falling out in my dream, then I am usually trying to get somewhere but for some reason, no matter how hard I physically try, I can’t move any faster than my dream lets me. It’s like I’m running in slow motion, yet I am pushing myself as if I was running faster than ever. It’s as if there are weights tied to my ankles and even though my feet are running as fast as they can, I am struggling and moving so slowly. I wake up anxious and out of breath because I feel like for the past 5 hours I have been trying to push through a brick wall with my bare hands.

            There was one dream in particular that was exceptional in its content that really stuck with me. I was a senior in high school and I was taking AP psychology; this is in real life mind you. We were in the dream portion of our syllabus and we had been talking about various ways people have been able to alter the state of their dream or be conscious of the fact they were dreaming, something I have never been able to do. I had been writing down my dreams every night and practicing several things we talked about in class but it was never successful. Finally, in the last day of this unit about dreams, we had our quiz, and moved on to other psychological theories and maladies. A couple days later, I found out that my good friend’s sister, Hilla, had passed away.  It was a full moon that day and I remember because it was one of those full moons that lurked low in the sky, holding the warmest color of milky blood-orange.

            That night I went to bed and started dreaming about these small monsters and goblins. I was in Paris in some ambiguous park next to the house I used to live in while I was growing up in France. I was with someone wandering in the park and at first I couldn’t tell who she was but then realized it was Hilla. We were talking next to this water fountain when all of a sudden I felt my teeth falling out and quickly after that, madness hit the city and goblin monster creatures were invading everything. The buildings were tall and dark, and the streets skinny and filled with screaming, running people. People started pilling up into the massive city bank across the street, because of the advanced security system it had. I ran inside the bank with Sheila and started holding my hands over my ears with a look of fear on my face, while everything around me was rampant with violence and destruction. I started to say “I can change this… no really, I remember that I can” and Sheila looked at me like I was crazy. I then insisted that yes I could change everything if I really felt like it; it was completely in my control.

            Right after saying that, I started falling through the sky, but it was more like a dark tunnel of dark navy blue color. I could feel my stomach in the back of my throat like one does on a roller coaster, and I was reaching trying to grab anything while I dropped through the air. There was a hole at the bottom and I somehow knew I had to fall through it, but was too ridden with anxiety to try to aim for it. Then, all of a sudden and for a reason I don’t know, I had a weird change of mentality and told myself to let myself fall and that I would make it to the bottom just fine. I then just gracefully fell into and through nothing, down this tunnel through the air. Falling this way felt so real and vivid, because there was no restriction or worry to be had. As I fell, it all slowly melted and faded away and in came this scene of me in a comfortable train car, crossing the countryside of France on the sunniest of days.

Spence Hood
WTRG 3007
Multimodal Project

Acting 101

Video:    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jI4eqN4w5H4

If I had worn the red tie instead, would you have hired me?  What if I said I loved your favorite baseball team?  What if I had better posture?  Whiter teeth?  Brighter eyes?  Shorter hair?  A more expensive watch?  Were my fingernails too long?  Were my hands too small?  Were the glasses a little much?  Should I really consider contacts?  Could you smell the pomade in my hair?  Was it my dress shirt?  Did you get a little glare off of the shiny buttons?  Do you hate the pinstripes?  Could I have gone home and changed real quick?  Did you notice the slightly off-color socks?  Did I use the wrong shoe polish?  Were the soles too thick?  Did I shuffle in the door too loudly?  Do I shuffle?  Am I bothersome?  Do I need to work on that?

Could you hear the musician in me?  Could you see the guitar string calluses in my fingers?  Did you see the tip of the capo just barely sticking out of my pocket?  Could you hear the song stuck in my head?  Could you hear the tenor stuck in my voice?  Was it the volume at which I spoke?  Was it my softly tapping thumb on your desk?  Was it my next-to-silent humming when I was sitting outside?  Did I smell like a studio room?  Did I smell like a musician?  Should I have worn more cologne?

And what if the blinds were a little more opened?  Your office a little warmer?  What if the cleaning crew hadn’t just switched to a new air freshener?  What if your coffee had been a little stronger? Your toast a little darker?  If you had gone to bed 20 minutes earlier the night before?  If it was a Friday instead?  Should I have come in on Friday?  What if your secretary had worn something more revealing that day?  If your intern didn’t have that tiny bleach stain on his jacket sleeve?  What if you hadn’t parked a little crooked the first time?  If your computer could have performed updates on literally any other day?  What if your wife had kissed you goodbye for a little bit longer?  What if it had snowed instead of rained?  What if you were happier?  More well-rested?  Was it my job to cheer you up?

Am I treated based on who I am?  Or based on every little thing that pushes the person treating me in one direction or another?  If you’re in a good mood, do I get to work for you?  If a billboard is being held up by steel poles instead of wooden ones, do you look at for any longer on your drive to work?  Do you know how much that steel costs?  Do you know about the engineering that went into making it so sturdy?  Or is it just the bottle of vodka on the sign that holds your attention for three seconds?  Who am I?  Who should I be?  Who do you want to see in me?  Who would look good in your office?  Who reminds you of yourself eight years ago?  What’s his name?  Where can I find him?

And by the way, what’s your favorite football team?  Oh I love that watch, where did you get it?  This is a great little office, have you been here for a while?  Your secretary is a total sweetheart, what’s her name again?  I have to ask, where on earth can I get a haircut like yours?

When do I start?

Camille Fenn

https://vimeo.com/88970481

Don’t Tell My Mom

I was almost asleep by the time he got there. I was in my pajamas. I always pictured my first time would be perfect. We would start hooking up at the doorway and leave a trail of our clothes behind us to the bedroom. Or maybe we’d do it in the living room in front of the fire like in the Notebook. But here I was. I was falling asleep on the pull out couch waiting for him to get here after his prom. 

I used to say that I kept a list on my phone just so I could keep their order straight but I don’t know what it really was that made me start counting. I don’t even remember when I started counting. Was my number getting too high? Was I starting to forget some of them? Was it that bad? 

Jesse was always trying to get me to call him “daddy”. “Call me daddy, first”, he’d say. Daniel thought he was funny. Mike was ridiculously tall. How did we even make that work? Sven made me laugh. Zach was way too high. I can’t even remember his last name. Mikail carried me to his room. Josh was the one with the chest piece. Or did Brandon have the chest piece? Or was he the one with the stupid tattoo on his back? Or was he the one who played lacrosse? Or wouldn’t stop talking about himself? 

I’ve had sex with tall guys and guys with perfect teeth or nose piercings or tattoos on their butts. I’ve had sex with guys from Texas and guys who swim. I’ve had sex with guys with girlfriends and ROTC guys and guys with arms the size of my head. Black guys and white guys and guys with girly names like Jesse.

Patrick was obsessed with my butt that Lawrence said was fun to play with that Dylan kept hitting that Hunter kept slapping. Or was it Sven who would sext me and Kohl was the one who called when Nick just sent me, “Where are you?”. Justin didn’t need to say anything at all.  “Yeah. I fucked that bitch.” Richard told everyone. It was Lawrence who started dating that blonde girl the next day. Hunter was a blonde too. And I’ve never heard from Zach again. Jesse always calls me when he’s drunk. Which I don’t mind as much as Ryan throwing up in my bathroom or Hunter telling everyone or Kohl who had no idea what he was doing. Literally no idea. And let’s not forget Jamal who sent me to the hospital. Dylan held me against that wall. He held me up against the wall and wrapped my legs around him. 

I took Kevin’s virginity. And Jesse’s. And Sven’s. Was it special for them?

I had always thought my first time would be perfect and would feel great. 

But I lost it to Lawrence and he started dating his prom date two days after. 

Easily surpassing double digits, I’m still looking for that perfect experience. He wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t talk about himself the entire time. He wouldn’t smell badly or be too drunk or call me the wrong name. He wouldn’t ask me to call him “daddy” or be too high. He wouldn’t just booty call me or mass text me or ignore me the next day.

I used to say that I kept a list on my phone just so I could keep their order straight but I don’t know what it really was that made me start counting. I don’t even remember when I started counting. Was my number getting too high? Was I starting to forget some of them? Was it that bad? 

Sarah Rose

https://vimeo.com/88967571
Pword: WRTG

"Fill In The Blank"

I genuinely hate the doctor’s office. It’s not just because of the irritating and offensive incandescent lighting or the combination smell of mothballs and sanitizer; the main reason I loathe the doctor’s office is because of the redundant paperwork. No matter how many doctor’s you will see in this lifetime there will always be mind numbing paper work. On this particular occasion I was sitting in the foyer of my pediatrician’s office on a poorly put together Ikea sofa filling out yet another form.

What is you name? Date of birth? Are you Married? Are you allergic to any medication? Have you had any recent surgeries? Are you currently on any medications?

Sarah Rose. October eight, nineteen ninety two, and no.

Moving on to the fill in the blank portion of the exam; describe your family’s medical history.

Are your parents healthy? Does your family have a history of high blood pressure? Does anyone in your family suffer from hereditary diseases? Cancer?

It's too bad I can’t answer any of those questions my doctor would probably find them helpful. It’s difficult being adopted. There’s a lot of critical information I just don’t know. Like what if I’m predisposed to breast cancer? Should I be more conscious of my blood pressure? Am I more at risk for heart disease? Should I take iron supplements? Does it matter? Am I fine? Will I be healthy? Is it important for me to know? Do I need to know? For now I leave that section blank.

It use to really bother me that I didn’t know anything about my biological parents. It felt like there was a massive void in my identity. I felt like if I understood more about my biological parents that would somehow resolve the void I felt.

Why did they give me up? Do they regret the choice they made? Was it her choice? Do I have any other siblings? Where are they now? Are they alive? Do they miss me? Do they ever think about me?

            I haven’t felt that way in a while. I don’t think that void I use to feel represented something empty. I think it just represents a vast range of possibilities. The openness of not knowing has probably shaped my identity just as much as the solidness of knowing would have. My anxiety and restlessness about my identity no longer needs to be reassured by strangers who I’ve never shared a sentence with.

To this day I still have friends that can’t believe that I have no desire to find, what they refer to as, my ‘real’ parents.

Don’t you ever wonder what they’re like? Have you ever tried to contact them? Aren’t you curious? Doesn’t it bother you? Do you resent them?

To which I explain to them I know my real parents they’ve put up with my shit for 21 years unconditionally and to be honest I find more comfort with not knowing the status of my biological parents.

What would I be like if I wasn’t adopted? Would I be as loved? Would I have had as many amazing opportunities? Would I be here? Would I be happy?

It leaves a space for idealization. Sometimes it’s just important to acknowledge that you don’t know, or you don’t, and be okay with it. There will always be a part of my identity that I won’t be able to fill in but I really wouldn’t want it any other way.