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#MeToo series,Blog

My Scars by Sarita Hacohen

Sarita Hacohen

I was two or three years old, and nice Mr. Rubinstein, our elderly neighbor from the next building, was my babysitter.  I remember lying across his knees while his hand patted my baby tushie in soft strokes. The next thing I remember is all the lights blazing and my mother screaming and screaming.

I was eight years old, walking home from school with my younger brother. …

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#MeToo series,Blog

I Do Not Have to Tell You This

Carolina VonKampen

I do not think I belong with #MeToo.

I do not have stories as deep and dark as these.

I sheltered myself. I heard stories. I heard how my family talked about my cousin, pregnant in high school: “So embarrassing.” I didn’t like people anyway; I liked books; I stayed in my room and read. I did not go to parties. I did not have friends. I …

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Blog,Essai

Baba Yaga in the Classroom

Psyche Z. Ready

When I was a girl, I came late and without my assignment to the classroom Joane Katsiff kept in woodsy Pennsylvania. Back then, I was scared to open my mouth in case sounds might come out. I couldn’t seem to say or do anything normal. Strange longings and excitements beat in my chest, and I stayed up all night walking in the dark, and putting my fingers into candle flames. I ate my lunch alone in a bathroom stall. I didn’t know what kind of disease I had, only that it was one of isolation.

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Blog,Essai

Portrait of a Pre-Existing Condition

Hannah Rose Neuhauser

It’s easier to not be embarrassed by a body if you don’t consider it your own. In the hospital, my body became a body of work. I felt no shame about being undressed, because nothing was projected onto me. My body was a scientific body. A body of fact. It was unrelated to me.

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Blog,Essai

Planting Manuka In The Rain

Dalia Levy

I planted dozens of manuka (where that expensive honey comes from), kanuka, harakeke (flax) among other species as it rained ensuring I became a sufficiently muddy eco warrior woman that apparently pampers each tree too much. The earth is heavy and as I plant manuka in the rain I think about how it’s simple acts that have profound effects. This simple repetitive act is the slow regeneration of what has been lost through one of the world’s most pressing issues: deforestation.

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