This post is mainly to get an excerpt of my NaNo up. This is just a dream sequence that helps explain part of the main story. It's my favorite part of the story so far, and I hope you enjoy it too. I'll edit this post with a NaNo status update later.

Now, onto the continuation of the weeklong meme! I'm only on day two, but I'm already loving this:

Posting this 30 Rock cast pic in honor of tonight! It comes on at 9:30, right after The Office. I'm really excited because some of the season 4 promos do look good. I was tempted to look for spoilers because I've been more into The Office and wouldn't really care about spoiling 30 Rock, but I restrained myself. :) I want to be totally surprised tonight. I'll probably do a reaction post tomorrow, also including a review of Parks & Rec, Grey's, and The Office. Oh, and Glee, since I'm about to watch it online again.

More of my non-fic writing under the cut. I know I haven't been posting at cynicalpixie, but I will try to have some more fics up by this weekend. It's about time I updated that comm.

Note: It's not as sad as last week's entry, thankfully. Just a short, sweet little poem about childbirth. :) I haven't written a non-angsty poem in a while, so please enjoy it.

( Week 2 entry-Navel )

Ooh, I just banged my knee. It really hurts. :p

One more thing: My e-mail address has changed. I'm now theninjawriter@aol.com. So you can send your messages to me there, because I'm deleting my old account. It was about time, anyway. :p

Happy Thursday, everyone!
 

I used to feel soft earth under my feet.

The fact that as a female child, I was allowed to get my feet dirty along with my brothers and the rest of the boys in our province, was very surprising indeed. Especially considering the fact that my mother was a lithe, elegant woman who recoiled at the word ‘dirt’. But now I think she gave me that taste of freedom so I wouldn’t be so wistful when she oh-so-swiftly snatched it away from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was her intent; she always had been crafty.

The arch of my instep used to be a sign of good times. I trampled over innocent plants, laughing and carrying on with Sun-Xiao and his friend Dong Li. I showed that I was powerful and mighty when my instep glossed over bumps in the long, rocky roads or jumped over narrow ditches. I was awed by all the children who lived nearby, doing things that girls never did. My instep made me more than a hero, though. It gave me life and joy, making me the lively eleven-year-old I am today.

Now those times are over, thanks to my mother’s selfish pride. Her friends brag about their daughters’ elegant feet thanks to that centuries-old practice of foot-binding, and were scandalized that I was eleven now and still had normal, “ugly” feet. So my mother decided that I’d no longer feel soft earth, or carry myself in a triumphant hair by the soles of each foot. And you know what’s going to happen next. I will just be a pawn, another poor girl’s feet lost to the vain hell that is beauty.

My mother speaks of foot-binding highly. “Just think, Mai,” she constantly says. “You will have many male suitors coming after you with new, beautiful feet. All of our neighbor girls with lesser feet will envy you. That is why I want only the best for you. Your feet will be bound as wonderfully as someone of nobility!”

The thought of going through such extreme, mind-numbing pain has given me nightmares every day for a year. All I can see is winter, when the feet are numb, with each foot soaked in herbs and animal blood.  Toes were pressed tightly, tightly, tightly, until they broke. Then they take my arch, the part of my body I held most dearly, and easily snap it, as if it were a bamboo tree limb. This is when I wake up, my body covered in a fine layer of sweat. I can’t think of the binding after that. Is it not enough that they break our toes and crack our arches? Must we be further put to ruin?

“Mai, it’s time.” I know there is no escaping my fate. The times are getting colder, and even my tough brother Sun-Xiao cannot stop from shivering. He also cannot stop my mother from pulling me away, destroying my outside-bred soles into what they consider beautiful and acceptable for a Chinese girl. I don’t get a say or an opinion; I just have to watch and keep quiet as years of play and joy are destroyed right in front of my eyes.

My mother could not look happier right now. But as for me? All I can do is look down at the backs of my feet, seeing my dirty, imperfect insteps for the last time, and shed silent sobs for something I can never reclaim.