*New Story Series* Bread Alone-Part 1

My life began with a bang, and so it shall end similarly, but it ain’t over yet.  Thy name is Arabelle “Belly” Sethi and I’m twenty four years old.  I just thought I’d introduce myself early on to give you a better picture of who I am, but I am sure you will get a better taste of me as the story rolls on.  I guess I could preface by stating that like many others, my life has panned out much stranger than I could have ever assumed.

Flashback to me starting college at the University of Miami.  I am eighteen, curious, frightened, but ready to take on the behemoth ahead of me.

“Arabelle!  You know I can’t lift all of this by myself!  You are going to have to help your mummy!” Says the woman who gave birth to me.  The woman who was only carrying one out of my five suitcases, and conviently grabbing ahold of the smallest of the pack.

“Mom, why don’t you just put it on this carrier that one of the dorm movers just brought out?”  I said in an effort to calm her down.  She was certainly of the panicky variety, but I somehow dealt with it.  Afterall, she was my sole caretaker for all of my life.  Thankfully, one of the dorm movers took the time to help us move the carrier to my room as I had never stepped foot on that darn campus before.

Although the very prospect of moving all the way across the country for college was daunting, I knew it was something that I had to attempt to embrace.  Back home in middle-of-nowhere, Montana, I can’t really say I had anyone to call a true friend of mine.  Being a five foot two, two hundred and fifty pound, tan, shy girl in a town that contained people who were anything but that description did not make for a simple existence, but I made did with what I could.

So why, oh, why did this gal decide to attend one of the most social schools on planet earth?  Simple answer: the freaking beach!  While back home does offer breathtaking views of cattle on end (heck I could just look in the mirror), I have always had a desire to greet some pretty waves.  I finally had the chance to do just that as my mother and I finished setting up my new room.

“Say, Belly, do you want to walk on over to the oceanfront while we wait for your roommate to pop in?” Said my mother, setting the last of my toiletries in the shared dorm bathroom.

“I suppose so, yeah” I said, feeling a little odd at the prospect of being on a beach with all my clothes on.  We started toward the dorm room door when my roommate decided to beach walk-block us by making an extravagant entrance.

“WHY HELLO THERE!  MY NAME IS ARABELLE AND I’M FROM TENNESSEE!  HOW ABOUT YOUUUUU?  WHO ARE YOU?” Says this interjecting, six foot, athletic-built, porceline-skinned ginger gal who was basically a carbon copy of my mother (but much younger), personality included.  I started up a petty laugh as I reached my hand out to greet hers.

“Well, it’s funny actually, because….um”

“What my dear here is trying to say is that you have the honor of sharing a name.” Interjected (ya see what I mean?) my mother, placing a trying-to-be comforting hand on my back.

“OOOOOH. Ooooooh!  M’am, it sounds like you have an accent!  May I ask what country you are from?”  Said my name twin.

“She is from Ireland, born and bred.”  I said as I felt it was only natural to cover for her when she did so for me.

“Ooooooooooh!  I’ve never met someone from a foreign country before!  Nice to meet you!”

Also, although my fellow Arabelle carried a remarkably spunky attitude, her stare couldn’t help but give away the fact that she was silently trying to figure out how I was my mother’s daughter, and vice versa.  Nonetheless, the solo-flying sprite managed to haul all of her stuff up to the dorm room without a problem.  My mother and I helped her to settle into our room, and after an hour of setting up her every little knick-knack, we were all beat.

“Say, Belly, why don’t you and your new friend go out to lunch while I attend the parent orientation?”  Said my mom, somewhow thinking that would be a good idea.

“OOOOH, YEAH! THAT WOULD BE SUUUUPERRR!” Exclaimed the not-me Arabelle.

“Um…..sure.”  I said, rather reluctant about the whole thing.  At any rate, I figured there was only but so much that could go wrong.

Figured Out

Tracy Chapman + Michael Jackson = The Weeknd

I guess we all boast influences from one source or the next, but I’ve (lately) never come to realize one so specifically precise as this………….and I liiiiiik…uh………..loooooooooove it. And I love it.

Truth is, I don’t think life has to be figured out, but exploration simply feels necessary in order to keep us all afloat. Would you rather pray for the turbulent winds to brush your raft along, or would you rather sail in silence for fear of movement? Would you loooove it?


“I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of agony, I envied my fellow‐slaves for their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to my own. Anything, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate.”

-Mr. Frederick Douglass

…starting to echo some of his sentiments, as of late.

You’ve Got That…….

Style is quite the thing, ain’t it? I mean, you get the chance to say what you want about yourself without saying a word; few other instances in life exist like this. Lately, life seems to be a gentle give-and-pull of whether or not I will actually accept this fact. To be noticed? To be covert? To not give the slightest care at all? It is all in the beauty of having options, I suppose. I look forward to talking more about this in future posts.

Where Do We Geaux Now?

If there’s anything that I’ve learned over the last year or so of blogging, it’s that it takes time to develop a quality web page. Of course, the quality that is being spoken of is due to be maddeningly subjective, so this is going strictly off of own my perspective. Nonetheless, there is always beauty to be found in emptiness. Embrace it. Ideas come sooner or later.

The Root

Son of beast,
or man’s best friend?
If I leave you to be judge,
will the story ever end?
Dear Adam,
savor an apple.
These woods are all too clear.
Dripping stone raindrops,
hearken winter’s slumbering ear.
Spring upon human’s feats,
until the grass greets a deer.
Man grips rotten nature,
thinks it has no chance.
Grizzly chuckles at this sight,
says, “well, that’s no romance.”