NOVEMBER 2012

DeltaWomen Magazine November Issue

DEFINITION

Editors Note
A Womans world is made of definitions. This world is based on Defined things and this issues theme is Definition. But I want to emphasize on the undefined. There are undefined crimes women are being accused of every day of their lives. Freedom is one of the many undefined crimes. When a woman feels free, she starts feeling guilty. When a woman speaks out, she has stepped over the defined boundaries. Being defined is equal to being caged. I am defined by the things I make and not the things that make me. I am a Woman. Elaheh Zohrevandi

Sense of Life by Alicia G Brauer S.

It makes sense to see when the trees change their leaves to renew themselves, It makes sense to see when the birds fly away feeling the air around their wings, When the butterflies decorate the air showing patterns from their heart.

It makes sense to smell the colored flowers and the bees flying around the petals It makes sense when the morning has a coffee smell When closing your eyes you can smell the world waking up for a new day

It makes sense to see the fishes and whales celebrating a blue life To hear the waves of the sea dance around and play with the wind And see the water with a cloud costume on the sky.

It does not make sense to feel you sad while your heart want to smile To feel you far away while I am here feeling you strong Trust my African friend that love travels far away and you inspire me to see your eyes always bright.
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Bittersweet by Alexis Cox

The leaves that were frozen to the ground slowly became covered by snow. The weather man promised four more inches by morning. The weather didnt stop the streets of downtown Chicago from being very busy with last minute Christmas shoppers. Hazel Middleton rushed through traffic to make it home. She was excited about wrapping the Christmas presents she purchased. She loved shopping for her niece and nephew, six year old twins Eric and Briana. She went well over budget for their Christmas presents. It didnt matter to Hazel though; she was crazy about those two. Her older sister Kristina, the twins mother, had told her over and over again that she spoiled them too much. Hazel began wrapping their presents when there was a knock on the door. One minute. Hazel yelled. She went and opened the door. There were two police officers on the other side. How can I help you? Hazel asked. Are you Hazel Middleton? one of the officers asked. Yes answered Hazel, looking puzzled. Well, Im Officer Connolly and this is Officer Walsh. Im afraid we have some bad news about your sister Kristina and her husband Jason. the officer said Oh my God, what is it? asked Hazel.

May we come in? Officer Walsh asked. Can you please just tell me whats wrong? Hazel asked, raising her voice. Im afraid your sister and her husband were shot in a bank robbery. Officer Connolly said. Are they okay? asked Hazel, beginning to cry. Im afraid not. said Officer Connolly. They along with three others were shot . Unfortunately, your brother-in-law died before the paramedics could make it. Your sister was rushed to Northwestern, but died shortly after. Im so sorry Ms. Middleton. Hazel nearly fainted. Officer Walsh leaned in to catch her. Are you gonna be okay, maam? asked Officer Connolly. Do you have anyone to come here with you? I dont know. I cant think right now. Hazel answered. Oh, my God, what about the twins, where are they? Your niece and nephew are with DCFS right now. Officer Walsh answered. But they will need to come here with you tonight, since you are listed as next of kin for them. Yeah, of course. said Hazel. Theres also the matter of you coming to identify the bodies, maam. Sorry, but theres no other family listed. Officer Connolly said.
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Right. Both our parents are dead. It was just me and Kristina. said Hazel. Ok, well give you a ride down to the station. said Officer Walsh. They all rode down to the station. Identifying her sister and brother-in-laws bodies was one of the hardest things Hazel had ever done. After it was done, she had to get home. CPS would be dropping the twins off soon. Hazel had to pull herself together to be strong for her niece and nephew. It would be very difficult. The police dropped her off at home, and once again gave their condolences. Hazel could barely function, but she knew she had to keep pushing. The twins would arrive any minute. Just then she remembered something important. She had been appointed guardian by Kristina and her husband Jason had anything happened to them. This meant Hazel would now have to raise these kids. She loved them to death, but could she actually raise them? Children were a very huge responsibility. But Hazel knew somehow, some way, that she had to take in these children who meant the world to her, and love them like they were her own. She knew it wouldnt be easy, but she would do it. She had wanted kids, but was never able to find that person that she wanted to marry and raise a family with. Her exgirlfriend Jennifer had come close, but then decided that family life wasnt for her. Just then, a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She knew it would be the twins.

Hazel headed to the door. She knew that from that moment on, her life would never be the same. She continued on to the door. On the other side stood Eric and Briana accompanied by a middle-aged woman wearing a tan suit. Hey, Auntie Hazel! Eric shouted. Hey E. Hey Briana. Said Hazel. Hello, Ms. Middleton. Im Mrs. Simpson from DCFS. Im sure youve been informed about the situation at hand involving your sister and her husband? Yes, of course. replied Hazel. She motioned for everyone to come in. Come give your aunt a hug you two. I missed you. Hazel said to the children. They went to give Hazel a hug. But its only been two days since we saw you Auntie Hazel said Briana. Remember you were just over our house after my play? I know said Hazel. But I still have missed you guys. We missed you two. said Eric. We were so happy when they told us we could come here and spend the night on a school night. We dont know where mommy and daddy are though. I think theyre out shopping for more Christmas presents.

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At that moment Hazel realized that the children hadnt yet been told about their parents death. This would be harder than she thought. Hey, why dont you two do me a favor and go into my living room and see whats on TV while I talk to Mrs. Simpson for a minute? Hazel said to the children. Okay. said Briana. The children headed towards the living room. So, I take it they dont know yet? Hazel asked. No. We thought it would be best if they heard the news from you. Hazel sighed. Look, I understand this must be extremely difficult for you, Ms. Middleton. Im hoping I can help in every way possible. You are about to find yourself on a long journey. Now, I know its probably been a long day and you still have yet to break the news to the children. I suggest you tell them as soon as possible and not draw it out. I know that may sound crazy, but its actually better. . She hands Rachael a card. Here is my contact info. I will be getting in touch with you tomorrow and we can take things from there. Thank you so much. Hazel said.

You are very welcome. Mrs. Simpsons said. Im gonna head out now. Feel free to give me a call with any questions, and again, Ill be contacting you tomorrow. Hazel walked her to the door. Goodnight Hazel said. Goodnight said Mrs. Simpson as she walked out the door. A million thoughts raced through Hazels mind. Should she tell the twins now? How would she tell the twins? How would they take the news? At that moment Hazel almost wished she was someone else in another place. Its either now or never. Hazel said to herself. She told herself it probably would be better to not draw out the process. She walked into the living room. The children were watching the Disney Channel. Hey you two, Im gonna have to interrupt your show for a while. She said. But this is my favorite episode of Ant Farm. said Briana. We, you can look at it later. I have to tell you guys something. Said Hazel as she turned off the TV. She sat down in between the two. I have to tell you guys something about your mommy and daddy. Now, I know you guys are probably wondering where your mom and dad are. Well, really sad happened. Hazel pauses for a moment. Mommy and daddy were at the bank
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when a very bad man came in with a gun. He wanted to rob the bank. Well, this bad manhe shot mommy and daddy. And now Mommy and daddy are gone up to Heaven. Wait, I dont get it. Said Briana. You mean like grandma and grandpa? Yes, sweetie, like grandma and grandpa? replied Hazel. And theyre not coming back? asked Eric. No, theyre not coming back. Hazel said, fighting back tears. But I dont want mommy and daddy to be gone up to Heaven. Said Briana, starting to cry. Thats where Aidans daddy went, and he never came back. I know. Neither do I. said Hazel. What about Christmas? asked Eric. Tomorrow is our last day of school before the Christmas break. Daddy was supposed to pick us up from school and then we were supposed to go get a present for Mommy. And then remember we were all supposed to come over here for Christmas? Yea, I remember honey. You know what, we can still do everything, if you guys want to. Said Hazel. I dont wanna have Christmas without mommy and daddy! Briana cried. If mommy and daddy are in Heaven, then I wanna go to.

But you cant sweetheart. Its not time for you to go to Heaven yet. said Hazel. Briana buried her head in Hazel and cried even more. Eric joined her. Its gonna be alright guys. Hazel said. I know it really, really bad. And its gonna hurt for a long time. But no matter how long it takes, Ill be here with you guys. No matter what. Whatever you need, whatever you want, Aunties got it for you. I love you two so much. The children continued to cry until they could cry no more. It was after midnight when they finally fell asleep on the couch. Hazel covered them with a blanket, and made herself a bed on the floor. She knew the road ahead of her would be long. She dreaded Christmas because she knew it wouldnt be a happy day. Yet Hazel knew in her heart that she would make things right again for the children. *

Christmas came and went. Just as Hazel expected, it was a hard day. Hazel made the day a little better by spoiling the kids and giving into their every want and need. Yet as the months went by, Hazel knew that she would eventually have to take on an authoritative role. She dreaded it.
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She was so used to spoiling these children. However, if it continued, they wouldnt have discipline. Hazel learned this lesson the hard way. It was almost Easter. The children had gotten use to living with Hazel; although it was evident they still missed their parents dearly. Easter was two days away and Eric had asked if he could go down to a friends house to paint eggs one afternoon. Hazel had told him no because she had to work and wanted him to stay home with the babysitter. Hazel was almost done with her work at the office when she got a call from the babysitter saying she couldnt find Eric anywhere. A million thoughts raced through Hazels mind. She rushed home, but by the time she pulled in the driveway, she realized where he was. She headed down to the neighbors house and knocked on the door. Her neighbor Lynn answered the door. Is Eric here? Hazel asked. Yea, hes in the room with Michael. replied Lynn, motioning for Hazel to come in. She led her to the room where the two boys were. For Gods sake Eric, you had everybody worried sick! shouted Hazel, startling the two boys. Didnt I tell you that you couldnt come down here?

Yea, I know Auntie Hazel but you always let me come down here all the time, even before I do my homework. Said Eric. I know, but this time, I told you no. And when I say no you dont just up and decide that you can do something anyway. Said Hazel. But you know what, its my fault because I let you and your sisters get away with too much. Its going to stop now. And as punishment, you will be getting no candy on Easter. But thats no fair! proclaimed Eric. Oh, yes, its very fair. You disobeyed me, and I could be giving you a worst punishment. Hazel said. Now, get your things because were going home. Eric reluctantly got his things and headed to the car. He said nothing to Hazel as they walked home. It hurt her to punish him and she hated that he was upset with her, but he had to learn. So did Briana. She had let them get away with too much and it had to stop. *

Eric eventually came around. With constant discipline, Briana followed suit. There were times when the children still tried to test her, but Hazel stood her ground, constantly letting the children know it was because she loved them.

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As the weeks and months went by things got easier. Hazel never realized she could love these children even more, but she began to. A year had almost passed since the death of Hazels sister and brother-in-law. Christmas was almost a week away as well. Hazel knew that it would be difficult for the children. Hazel also knew that many a Christmas would be this way because every time the holiday came, the children would be reminded of the death of their parents. On Christmas Day, Hazel awakened the children at around nine in the morning to open their gifts. She went over budget just as she did last year, but this time for good reason. The children came into the living room, but instead of opening their presents, they went and retrieved two gifts. They gave the gifts to Hazel. Whats this guys? asked Hazel. Its a special gift for you. replied Eric. Yea, open it. said Briana. Hazel opened the first one. It was a picture of Kristina in a frame. Oh, I love it! exclaimed Hazel. She began opening the second gift, guessing what it was. Just as she thought, it was a picture of Jason.

Oh, I love this one too. said Hazel. Whatever made you guys get me such good presents? We know you miss mommy and daddy just like us. answered Eric. Yea, we hear you cry sometimes at night. said Briana. And you said its okay to be sad sometimes, but we got you their pictures so you wont be that sad. Well, I just love them. Theyre the best presents ever! Hazel said as she gave both children a kiss. Now, why dont you two go and open your gifts. The children went and began to open their gifts. At that moment, Hazel felt the happiest she had felt in the last year. This act from the children meant they were headed in the right direction. It meant that they would all be okay.

Outside of the Box; Giving Denitions to Your Life by Laze Lyeh Cndida

"In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different."

Dear Sisters,

"The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud."

(Coco Chanel)

If you have already gone to an interview, you probably were asked to define yourself. Isn't this question hard to answer? I guess you never define yourself as a "very lazy person" or a "gossipmonger". After all, you understand more than anybody why you commit mistakes all the time or what you do to change your behavior. You just show to the others your best. It reminds me a conversation I was having with some French colleagues last week. We were talking about elections, and a small fact bothered me a lot. When I asked them about the ideas discussed in the last debate, they commented the same thing they saw in a social network, a joke. Then, they started laughing and our brilliant issue died. It seems too silly to some people, but too serious to me: Instead of ideas, jokes. I explain why I thought about this relation. Life is a labyrinth, with thousands of paths to follow, so why did I choose the emptiest one? That one which few people have courage to assume? Do all the definitions we give to our lives necessarily go against the grain? I don't regret doing it, I was aware of my opinion. If I want to make difference with my own ideas, I must take risky decisions. Definition, in my view, has intrinsic relation with courage and strength. Besides, we can make a parallel with identity. Let's continue with the social network example. Approximately 99% of people I like have a profile there, even my inner circle relatives. According to them, it's a way not to cool relationxii

ships. I partially agree with it. I decided not to join the network because I know too much availability can actually destroy relationships, causing some clashes and quarrels. Besides, I like to hear some things from people's mouth. But I am one in a billion! They don't think like me and I lost contact with them. It is a very expensive injury, but not as expensive as my freedom of choice. Now I ask you. What's your "social network"? Is it a hard moment of your lifetime? Is it a decision that changes your career or your appearance? While writing this article, I heard a TV commercial announcing a documentary about change-makers and honest people. Some of the cases shown in the documentary were a violinist who helps poor children to have their dreams achieved, a young man who became a Young Ambassador of United Nations, knew lots of places around the world and learned English by himself with an old radio and a couple of trash gatherers who came across 20,000 BRL (a considerable amount of money in Brazil) and gave it back to its owner. Ask them if they're sure of their decisions, and they'll affirm it with pride. Their life is well-defined and they aren't rich! Don't surrender, don't be afraid, do it for you. Greater people were out of this huge "social network" named common sense, and they just made marvelous innovations for humanity! One of the most illustrious examples I know for smart women like us is our clothing. Do you know why feminine pants exist? Could you tell me why we don't need to wear heavy dresses anymore? I gave you the answer in the beginning of this arti-

cle. Somebody must think outside of the box to improve our existence. With that "Fly Higher" spirit I proposed you last month; I wish you never make decisions in your life based on concessions. Believe in me, it is harmful to your soul. I used to live for the others, doing things to look friendlier and more attractive. I believed I could count on each person I conquered with those concessions, but life taught me I've just gotten fragile ties with those people, so fragile that a simple webpage broke everything. They just used me for a while and then, got out when I was feeling weaker. I learned to follow my heart and be myself. People would come to me naturally, and it's exactly what is happening. Don't dress you up like a peacock when you're not one. Follow your heart and see your "meaningless" life gaining definitions! Please, remember that "if you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, don't blame the mirror". Try to be somebody you like to be. Do you think they are wrong and you are right? Prove it! Maybe you can take some risks proving your statement, but there isn't worse risk in this life than being invisible and not heard. Even if you discover you were wrong, raise your head and be proud to try. My last desire is to spread the message. You don't need to mention this article, but if it encouraged you to make up your mind, show yourself to the world. Shout your ideas out loud, your definition to world's biggest social network: our plane-

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tary society. Yes is yes, no is no. Don't surrender to their opinions. Fly Higher and Be Yourself! See you next month.

P.S.: I'm not an enemy of all social networking! If you like my texts and my ideas, I invite you to follow me at Twitter, @layeherbjorg.

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Photography by Effat Allahyari

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

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The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

The Defined World in the city of Tehran, Iran.

Struggling Star by Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

When hope crashes, almost immediately, a future smashes into smithereens- into a thousand broken mirror pieces, while you're left with your pallid, hopeless eyes staring back at you. You hear no sound as the tiny splinters fall into the soulless depths of despair. Somewhere so deep, a chasm akin to a black-hole, that nothing that goes in can ever be brought back. Not even your dreams. Or hopes.

Painful, how the rug is deftly pulled out from under your feet while you remain watching, inert, inept, even. But it happens, nevertheless, it happens as it does. And nothing can change that. The department of time, in the university of life teaches you an invaluable lesson- to move on. But that becomes tougher to learn if you were a strong student in the department of emotions. Junk philosophy, I think.

If it was in Grief, it was philosophy, if in joy, it was madness. Just the way a philandering flame could be for warmth, or for arson. My hands clutch my stomach, as wave after wave kicked my feet.

Artwork by Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

The expanse of the ocean stuns me into reality always, letting me know exactly how insignificant a speck I am, in an otherwise bigger jigsaw. But this time, My Speck looms larger.

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For nine months she sat in here, I think, rubbing my stomach. She gave me just nine months and three days to be with her. And rudely, she was gone. The cord connecting her and me was snapped, but left just one person wondering why the other had to go.

I saw her last. What a rude shock and a half, to wake from an epidural and half a dozen sedatives.

I begin walking along the waves, as they lashed at my feet, sometimes frolicking, sometimes tugging. She would have been like them, if she had a chance to grow up, I think. Perhaps she would like walking on the beach, too, perhaps she would smell of fresh flowers, perhaps her voice would sound like the musical notes of a nightingale. If she had that chance to grow up. Perhaps. If. Perhaps. If. Funny, how life seems to be choc-a-bloc with a cornucopia of prepondering possibilities, so intricately woven into a tight weft, that extracting one thin thread from the entire matrix would be impossible, without ripping up the entire fabric.

Medium-chain acyl-coenzyme, they wrote, the scientific name for an inborn defect in metabolism. Which meant, that the chemical processes that had to occur in the cells to keep her alive, were screwed up. Plausibly because of a glitch in the chromosome, a mutated ACADM gene, or just plainly, in English, Time and Fate playing up.

Whatever they said, I was the one left with a gaping hole, the size of the elephant that remained in my room for days after, as people that cared to visit, dodged the topic, while longing to take a peek. And instead made mundane conversation that I remained compunctionlessly aloof and detached from.

She was found dead after being put to sleep. What an ironical play of words, I think. Found Dead after being put to Sleep. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, they called it. And just like that, four words strung together decided my fate. It was rare, statistically for them, unfair, painfully for me. It was My present, would be my past, and would shake up my future. My daughter was gone from me, and that's all I know. For three days I saw her in my arms, and then suddenly, she was nowhere at all. A miniscule form sleeping peacefully. That's how

She felt no pain, the men in surgical scrubs said, but how could they know? Did they realize that another heart bled as she fought for life? Did they realize the invisible cord that connected her to me, was still firmly in place despite the only physical one being cut up?

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Or did they see those dreams as she did- those years of school, college, fun, happiness and childlike love that would never happen, ever, between them? Did they know, I wanted to call her Hope? And that I would never be able to look the word in the eye, much less, allow it to meander in my throat or lash on my tongue? She felt the pain, yes, she did, certainly, I think to myself. She didn't have a chance, or even a language to say it. Pain was universal, it took you enough experience to see it in the next person, and to understand it just by a glance.

so desperately in need of. Hoping, vaguely without realizing, believing myself to be in retrospect at that moment, that someone saved my struggling star. And that was when reality pegged a hook at my navel, and tugged me back. I look into the ocean. Maybe I am a speck after all, inextricably linked to the next in the gigantic jigsaw.

And maybe, just maybe, there is hope, after all.

Something gnaws at my feet. I bend down and sift the froth-filled waves a bit, feeling a slimy jelly like being, wriggling weakly. The waves benevolently go back to let me see the being desperate for attention. I see a starfish in pained grandeur, for it seemed to sing its own paean, its own pre-death soliloquy.

I scoop up the struggling star, as it rebels against my sweaty and sea-water kissed palm. And with all my might, I throw it into the ocean, hoping for it to be united with its mother. Hoping for it to enjoy its lease of life, that someone else was also
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Conceal by Leila A. Fortier

I wanted to tell her This dream you are having is only Temporary~ But I did not have the heart to Crush her ruby lips, or dust off her knees from The remnants of lovemaking~ I wanted to say that All wakings are seasonal just as the slumbers~ We Fall into one and forget the next in perpetual states Of yearning~ These disappointments are a heartBreak across the face~ We learn to force our Smiles over unhappy endings with Plastered teeth and painted Eyes~ Shame is a Mockery That ~Cannot be endured~ So we learn to bend reality~ I wanted to tell herDo not be Afraid of the knife that will stab You~ The bleeding will come As red as your lips~ And The world will see The heart you Have so Tried To ~Conceal~

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Who Am I? by Katherine R.Vasquez Tarazona

Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing the self is enlightenment. Mastering others requires force. Mastering the self requires strength. Lao Tzu

Identity( The!fact!of!being!whom! or!what!a!person!or!thing! is.!! (Oxford!Dictionary)!

! Being!different!from! others.!! UNIQUENESS'

!
Self
!

While researching on the topic, I run into many papers (on psychology) referring to the search of identity in average- during our teen years. According to the professionals on the subject, adolescence is the time when we decide to form our own self (helped by our social models and principles). Hence, culture, religion, and politics play a great deal on our formation. When I was 13, I remember reading a book about this with great consternation. I recall questioning my pillars and self-knowledge. I thought that I was defining the most important aspect of my life. I assumed that I was going to change for the last time. This was it. The moment of truth! Here I am, 17 years later. Let me tell you something, I have lost track of the times I have changed; whether it is a matter of appearance (hair cut, clothing, brands of cigarettes and scotch, and so on), interests (music, history, arts, etc), scopes of work (from law to international relations with a spin of entrepreneurship), hobbies (trekking is the latest, and it begun at age 29), goals (it is not that
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I have lost the killer instinct in me, it seems like it has found a better path), religion status (to the point of forgetting I have a status at all), or something else. Life changes and so does our perspective of it. That is a fact. Unless, it only applies to those affected by the Peter Pan Syndrome in which case you can stop reading because I will not make sense anymore. Identity is the fact of being who a person is. It is a huge can of labels, in a way. The problem comes at defining each one, finding their colors, shades and textures. It also collapses with the concept of self. Apparently, as someone once told me back in the 90s, by nature, humans are different. Uniqueness is that it factor that differentiates us from other species (beyond Darwinian theories). However, we spend loads of energy thinking, creating, and formalizing groups, labels and divisions; i.e., women versus men; model-sort-of-looking versus born-to-be-a-geek-looking; intelligent versus dumb; clever and badass versus naf and literal; and so on. Why do we have the necessity of belonging? It has something to do with that famous quote no man is an island. Yes, we are social beings indeed. The anxiety we experience every time we face something new has a bit (maybe a lot) to do with the fact that we are unfamiliar to it. It gets a lot easier when you are forced to do something with someone you know or when you do something that is familiar to you even when the crowd is not but they relate to it. I was studying (sort of) the role of feminists in my environment. I was not putting an emphasis on feminism itself but on those who behave as feminists, which in my experience had little relation anyway. The analysis got into a peak when I called out a friend as one. Rapidly, she fired back, in the middle of a strange surprise, in denial. I am not! She proceeded to ask me, with curiosity, what is a feminist to you? I found her question quite refreshing, though, it added to my theory [being a feminist does not entail acting on feminism per se]. Following a long debate on the matter, her conclusion remained the same I am not a feminist. However, I will not let any man interfering with my view of the world. Anyway, I do not know where you get this idea from; and mine did not change either. She is on the feminist wagon but does not like it and I can see why. Being a feminist nowadays has lost the charm of the old years (defending womens rights, voting for the first time, wearing swimsuits, being able to work (first as secretaries and the similar and then as pairs with men), writing books (no more in the underground) and signing their name on it!). Indeed, saying that one is a feminist usually relates to being a man-hater, bitter and irrational woman.

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Back in August, I (fb)liked this quote All women issues are to some degree mens issues and all mens issues are to some degree womens issues because when either sex wins unilaterally both sexes lose. By doing so, I was adhering to my belief system. I hope for gender equality. To me, this is what advocates for womens right should look for. Anyhow, I was somewhat surprised by the comments this quote was getting. The very first one on the following screenshot reads thats a bullshit quote, and typical of a mans perspective. It says that women can only win when men help them or agree with them. History shows that when women win unilaterally, both sexes win but men keep fighting the stupid battle out of sheer male insecurity about equality. In my modest and very personal opinion, this person stared the tree and forgot about the existence (as a concept even) of the forest. We are not islands; therefore, we are in the need for the other gender, right? One would not accomplish everything without the help of the other. Then, why should we proliferate against someone just because of his or her sexual organs (behavior and role, to add on and to be clear)? Labels. Tags are welcomed in our language, not just our society. Without them, we believe that we could not communicate. True. However, parents understand their children needs before them being able to talk in their primary language. That is, though, a different topic. I have being deviating long enough.

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The idea of self or soul, as Plato and Aristotle define it, has long been in our minds (and religions). C.S. Lewis did a marvelous job describing it in the following words you dont have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body. Aristotle and Plato diverged on the unity of body and soul. However this distinction may attract to you (or not), the truth is that the quest for self-determination seems to elude the simplicity of a day which seems paradoxical (to me) considering that every single moment helps shaping ones institution of self, marking the next move onto that discovery and the pride that comes with it. By the way, I do not label myself as a feminist. However, I happen to know a few who do and make me proud of so. They are true advocates of equality and wear the tag with that nostalgic charm I referred in the lines above. To be profoundly honest, however one chooses to identify his or her self, I hope he and she make special consideration to the fact that the thing that matters is how one feels about it. A zero-tag policy? Go for it! A full package of them? Sure! Nevertheless, make sure to be you who do this because at the end it is our trademark. Unique, we are.

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Whats My Name by Elaheh Zohrevandi

There is no real difference between a woman and a girl. When I'm with her, I feel like a woman and when I'm with him, I feel like I am a real girl. And there are shades of identity in between. Most of the time I find myself not being able to answer the simplest questions. I used to have this war inside my head every moment trying to define myself. I used to have this rage,this battle inside. And on the surface, everything was fine. Definition, what a grand word. And who am I? What a grand question.

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Denition: Making A Decision by Daniela Silva

!
Definition, among other meanings (according to the dictionary) means: Explanation of the meaning of a word, phrase, sentence or concept. In this paper, we address the definition we give our life goals, it is necessary to constantly reflect on our goals, taking into consideration the best we have, as our talents, resources and capabilities.
Therefore, simple and practical, challenge you to pick up pen and paper, and based on the items will then draw

a simple plan of action that, by clearly defining objectives and goals, you will make simple decisions on a daily basis:

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What is your goal? Where do you want to reach? In What time frame? With who? How will you know you're getting achieve the proposed objective? What stops you will reach your goal? What difficulties or barriers that do not allow you to advance in your plan? Since the goal could interfere with other parts of your life? The goal is in line with your values? What would be

the gains and losses?

What skills and resources you already have to assist in meeting your goal? What else do you still need? Cite at least five actions that could facilitate the implementation of its objectives.

Finally, good goals generate excitement, enthusiasm. Do not be afraid to show your commitment to achieve a goal. Define what you want and make a decision!

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Keep Moving by Gloria Adero

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

The stanza comes from a poem by Robert Frost titled The Road not Taken. Due to its popularity, many may recall it when making difficult decisions in life. There have been disagreements regarding whether the poem depicts regret in choices made, or satisfaction with ones life. However, in the grander scheme of things one could argue that it does not matter because both contentment or lack therefore make a person. The journey made through life will change you and all one can do is accept faults made and learn from them, as well as celebrate successes while committing to memory the actions that made them be. Brooding in the past is a waste of time and has not been proven to accomplish much. Nevertheless, if you use both good and bad experiences to grow, that is a whole different story. We are defined through past experiences among a myriad of other factors. Instead of using regret as a crutch that may hinder action and personal development, we need to make decisions that we feel may be correct at a particular moment because the price of inaction is far greater than the cost of making a mistake. (Meister Eckhart). In the end, any road you take will make a difference in forming who you want to be no matter how well travelled the road is. Inevitably, choosing a difficult part will lead to a more colorful life but all in all, either road must be chosen. It is standing at the crossroads that should never be an option.

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Art and Photography by Effat Allahyari & Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Effat Allahyari

by Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

by Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

The Child: My Love; My hatred by Mohammed R. Moni

"Men judge us by the success of our efforts. God looks at the efforts themselves." Charlotte Bronte

The woman defines the man. The Child defines the woman. The man is there because I am here. I am here because the child is near. Listen to my story that I have to tell; Even Sylvia in her grave told me to retell. I am not that myth teller; I am that truth teller. It is a story about woman, so the truth will get bigger. "A Child kills that man, for the man beats the woman" She is alive, she is strong, producing someone can. The child drinks my blood, eats my flesh, smooth vampire. The child is the true company; they are my attire. They are frightening, every scary. He will not get close! The lion kill every cub to get the forlorn lioness. "Eight men hunted the Indian girl; she was nothing. She was something, left; they want to enjoy playing."
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Yes, she did cry, cry, and the river was running The nature was celebrating, the flowers flowering The sun must stop moving; the darkness must be fading. The man killed himself. The girl will kill memories I cannot live without you, my children, my babies You are me and I am you He is me but I am not his.

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Its Hot by Denise Falcone

A posse of bare-chested men spilled out from the dump back of the truck parked in front of the house next door. She eyed them from the porch while clutching in both hands her first mug of the day. Worse than a nuisance of crows, she thought. Oblivious to their effect, they began to rev up their dreaded leaf blowers. Dust and debris showered up into a cyclone and she had to go inside. Once in an attempt to persuade the neighbors to sign a petition to ban the things, either no one was home when she rang or they refused to take her seriously when they finally did open their big fancy doors to her standing there with her clipboard. Yes, she was the lady who lived in the house in the grove of pine trees, and yes, it was her big yellow cat who did very much enjoy lolling underneath everyones bushes. Whats its name? they would ask, grinning at her as if she was a mental. You cant park here! You cant park here! one bare-shouldered woman yelled out from an upstairs window as soon as she pulled up in her car. Des Egan used to live across the street. They demolished his house like all the others when he died. Dug up and discarded all the rose bushes too that his wife Jean put in when their son went off to war.

One afternoon, while having to wait longer than usual for her turn at the doctors office, she read in a womans magazine that if you felt helpless and out of control, what a time-saving idea it would be to list all those feelings down in a journal. At the drugstore while her prescriptions were being filled, she wandered over to the stationary aisle and selected a yellow spiral notebook and a purple gliding pen. She stood the foot of her driveway in her lilac housedress gazing out to the identical cardboard castles built in haste on newly barren plots of land. The garish oversized windows were perpetually sealed and shaded. In spite of record high temperatures, everything looked so cold.
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The cat kept pushing himself against her. After giving him his food and taking her pills out of the bag, she sat at the kitchen table with her new pad and pen. She felt like a writer already and thought about how she was going to start. November 23. Its hot.

*It's Hot previously appeared in Turks Head Review

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Credits

C REDITS

Staff
Contributors Alicia G Brauer S. Alexis Cox Laze Lyeh Cndida CEO Elsie Reed Kirthi Gita Jayakumar Leila A. Fortier Editor Elaheh Zohrevandi Kirthi Gita Jayakumar Katherine R. Vasquez Tarazona Elaheh Zohrevandi Daniela Silva Photographer Effat Allahyari Gloria Adero Mohammed R. Monifi Artwork Kirthi Gita Jayakumar Denise Falcone
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End Note
The theme of the December issue is End. We accept submissions from all over the world. Any piece written by a woman or about women is interesting for us. Deadline: 1st December
Visit us here: www.deltawomen.org Send your Submissions to elahehzohrevandi@me.com