Challenge
The Rebellious Spirit of a Brown Girl: Growing Up Against the Odds
I belong to India where a lot of expectations are placed on brown girls. It entails carrying the burden of the "good girl" stereotype all the time. Society expects me to prioritize other people's viewpoints over my own, frequently at the expense of my goals and ambitions. It is rebellion to defend myself. Even if it costs me to respect people who are trying to destroy my life, I must keep quiet and listen. A girl already had so much pressure the day she was born. But what about the boys? Brown girls are always instructed to sit properly, not laugh loudly, not talk to boys and always be docile and soft. Why is a girl's gender the requirement to clean the house or be in the kitchen?
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Writers
When One Door Closes. Top Story - February 2025.
November 2021 Standing in the cold, I was bundled with my hat, mittens, long coat, stealing heat from my husband. I peeked at my phone while we waited for the winter light show. The notification announced my monthly bonus from Kindle Vella.
By KA Stefana 2 years ago in Writers
To myself- Thank you for being the love of my life
Love- L-O-V-E The magical four-letter word infuses a sense of warmth and fuzziness, a belief that propels the winds of time and strides through the storms to keep the ones who beckon our hearts alive. Amor as gallant in its notions often seems so convoluted with its essence, of how it should be and how we should feel once we are in the whirlwind of caught-up emotions that cease our ability to function like a normal human being. At Least I have heard about it, that the wind of love often rides us in a flair of irrationality where one becomes enveloped in their emotions, forgetting their sense of responsibility. The content we consume and the movies we grew up watching all tell us that love is the sole purpose and essence of one’s being and that our existence should revolve around finding it.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Writers
So the Story Goes
Jaylene’s blood turns to ice as she follows his gaze to the black suburban parked across the street. Its windows are heavily shaded, but with the sun rising behind it she can barely make out the silhouettes of two occupants, both wearing sunglasses, staring at the house.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock2 years ago in Writers
