Posted on by Ema Barnes

creative: how not to fall in love.

You want it to be casual, the hook up. You don’t want it to turn into a regular thing.

But you’re not done with her. Not yet. You want one more go. Just one.

You don’t want it to last all night—you know if the two of you end up cuddling, she’ll get emotional. And are you sure you can handle that? You know yourself, and you know her. This act is going to be rash, yes, but it won’t be dumb.

So how do you go about initiating this encounter? Simple. Almost too easy. You know her schedule; you’ve had it since way back on the second day of school, when you ‘accidentally’ ran into her best friend. In order to initiate a conversation with her, you only need to walk up to her. You might think to catch her after class—chemistry, preferably, when she’s feeling unintelligent and insecure. Her hair will be hanging in long strands alongside her face and those perfect rose lips will be puckered slightly into a frown.

She always liked your black button down, so wear that one. Don’t look too formal. Pair it with dark washed jeans, and maybe a hoodie for warmth, but make sure it’s not the same colour as the one you wore last time. Don’t bother shaving. Keep your earbuds in, as if you’re not waiting for anything particular. Don’t be obvious. Walk around the corridor a few times. Don’t look nervous. Text, or change the music on your phone, or read an article while you walk, or something.

Then you’ll serendipitously walk into her. Casually, coincidentally. It’s almost like kismet, isn’t it?

Don’t forget to smile to yourself. Aim for a wistful look, sing to your music. Then, when she crashes into you, she’ll think this is unintentional. Another strand might fall out of her ponytail, and she’ll gaze at you as if a god sent you from the heavens. She’s forgotten you’re too devilish to pass for a fallen angel.

Greet her. Oh hey, you might say. Fancy seeing you here. Give her a confused look. Let yourself wonder what she’s doing there in the same space as you—you didn’t memorize her schedule, of course; you didn’t plan this. The facade of effortless requires a great deal of effort.

Hi, she’ll reply. She’ll be subdued, worrying about her science grade, and might not even notice your feet falling in time with hers. Where did you come from? she might ask.

You know, you’ll say. Here and there. Are you okay? Make a motion as if to touch her, but pull your hand back. Don’t touch her—yet.

She might shake her head, look down at her boots. She’ll whisper a negation, mumble something about another failed chemistry exam. And so you might take her to get apple cider, a pick-me-up to counteract the cold weather and harsh classes, the frigid people in her life.

Once you’re sitting across from her in the corner of the coffee shop, you’ve got her in the bag, wrapped just like one of those danishes the pretty girl at the counter serves you, delectable in plastic with a little gold string keeping the sticky stuff inside.

She’ll suggest coming home with you. Just for a little while, she’ll say. A small pick-me-up, for old time’s sake. Don’t remind her that if the old times had been any good, they might not be quite so old. It’s okay if your smile is a little hungry—she won’t notice it anyway.

Remind her that you have class at eight in the morning, that she can’t stay too late. Set that precedent early. Ensure she knows—no cuddling, remember? No emotions. No imagining her where you left her—curled, safe and warm in your bed—as you dress for another hour of pencil tapping and teacher bashing.

A drink or two will do her just fine—don’t take it too far; you don’t want her vomiting in your clean bathroom. You don’t want to have to hold her hair back or stroke the soft skin of her back, do you? A drink or two will loosen her up enough to admit that she wants you. And that’s all you need. That one little admission is the secret ingredient to all of your success.

You won’t even need to lure her to your bed. She’ll be sprawled across the plain dark covers when you come back from the bathroom, a smile lazily caressing her lips. About whether she’s nervous or not, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you won’t be thinking about her again—you’ll be staring at your biology partner’s ass without a doubt—as long as you don’t end up cuddling.

So remember to be wary, my friend. Remember to make sure she leaves by midnight and remind her to keep her heart. Any later, and she’ll leave with yours. Oh, don’t be nervous; you’ll be fine…

Posted on by Ema Barnes

on asexuality.

I posted the following to Facebook in October, 2014.

It’s Asexuality Awareness week. So, here goes. Hi. My name is Ema and

I am asexual.

This means that I have no sexual drive and I don’t experience sexual attraction whatsoever. I adore cuddling, and, with someone I have an emotional connection with, kissing can be fun; however, anything more and I’d rather be eating cake.

To answer the most commonly asked questions: No, I am not a plant. Yes, I have orgasmed; no, I do not ever want to do so again. No, I do not need my hormones tested. And no, even if you are the most attractive person ever, you cannot ‘fix’ this.

Asexuals can be aromantic or homoromantic or biromantic or panromantic or whatever other label one wants to use. I myself am heteroromantic, meaning despite my asexuality I still become emotionally involved with males. I still can have and have had my heart broken. If in an emotionally committed relationship, I have few problems participating in sexual activities; I’m just indifferent to them. They’re boring and I’d rather do homework.

I still have no problems if you want to have a lot of sex with a lot of people and I have no problems if you don’t. Really, if it makes you happy and harms no one, I have no problems with it.

Please ask me any questions you may have. Sex and sexuality need not be taboo subjects and I have resolved to be very open in order to spread knowledge, awareness, and understanding.
Aside from people denying that it is possible for us to exist not experiencing sexual attraction, us asexuals are not, per say, often discriminated against; however, no one should ever have to go through their formative years thinking something is wrong with them.

I didn’t know asexuality–something that seems to go against all base human instincts–was even a thing for the longest time. Labels are often criticized, but though I have no regrets about my life, finding that label really made me a much more confident and secure person. Had there been more awareness I may have realized I wasn’t alone much earlier in life.

Posted on by Ema Barnes

on dystopian literature.

This was a rather rambly thought response piece.

On the prominence of dystopias

The word dystopia, per the Oxford English Dictionary, wasn’t used until 1952. There’s a use of “dystopian” in 1868 that appears to be describing someone who is the opposite of a utopian, but “dystopia” itself has been in use for less than a century.

Utopia, on the other hand, has been in use since 1533 per OED. Since Sir Thomas More published Utopia in 1516, we can assume this work led to the word. Looking at definition B, we can see that briefly there was a time that utopia meant simply “an imaginary or hypothetical place” but for the most part, the word utopia has had the connotations of perfection.

So since dystopias have barely been around a fraction of the time utopias have, how come dystopian literature is so much more prominent?

In a utopia, everything is perfect. If everything was perfect, there would be no conflicts, and without a conflict, there can’t be a plot. Utopias are more prominent in articles as an ideal state to aspire towards. People are often inclined to read articles about how they can make their life into some ideal state, and a lot of self improvement articles advance ideas of perfection and utopian worlds that one can live in if one follows the given recipes. However, while we may want to live in an ideal world, we couldn’t read an entire novel about such a world. There’s a reason novels end with happily ever after and go no further. There’s a reason novels don’t tell about Jane and Joe’s everyday life as a married couple once they overcome the hurdles required to get there. It’s boring.

A lot of dystopias feature kids; dystopian literature is more commonly young adult literature. This may be because younger people tend to have more imagination. Harry Potter, for example, faces very real challenges and issues such as the “rampant slavery” of house elves, classism, racism, etc. However, since it has magic and people casting spells, it’s classified as children’s literature. The publishers could very well have chosen to market the series to adults, but they didn’t. Magic is a kids thing. Adults don’t believe in magic. Adults don’t even believe in Santa Claus; how could they be expected to believe in a world of magic? (This is also, of course, partially because the main character is 11 at the beginning. But why is he 11 and not 21? Because children are more receptive to this world.) In general, children have more imagination and can more easily accept worlds dissimilar to their own. That’s why ghost stories scare small children, why fantasy worlds envelop small children, why a novel that draws a small child in can bore an adult to sleep. I used to love babysitting because I got to read to the kids and see their unfiltered reactions. They have no preconceived notions and they aren’t afraid or ashamed to lose themselves in an unreal world.

But if you were to read them More’s Utopia, they’d probably fall asleep.

On dystopias arguably being utopias

I think dystopias tend to be utopias for some people involved–they tend to be societies created by people who expect them to become perfect for everyone involved. Dystopian literature is probably my favourite genre of fiction. I am a shameless young adult novel addict and many of the best YA books are set in dystopias.

For some reason, I find that authors tend to do better jobs creating dystopian worlds than entirely fantastical worlds–or maybe I’m just more inclined to find them believable. They’re generally more similar to our own worlds now, but with important changes. We don’t have to use our imaginations to see mystical creatures or strange lands.

Nonetheless, most of the dystopian worlds I can think of are perfect for one group of people–the main group, normally encompassing most of society or at least the governing forces–but are dystopian normally because the main character knows how to think and thus questions the way society is run. This is true of a lot of dystopian lit. 1984. Uglies. Inside Out. Matched. Divergent. Delirium. Children of Men. Handmaid’s Tale. I could keep going. For example, the Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld. (If you haven’t read it, read it. Ignore the fact that I love pretty much all YA dystopias. Just read it.) In this society, everyone is given an operation on their 16th birthday that makes them pretty. This creates ultimate equality. People are of all races and are all equally beautiful in their own ways. Most of them then get to sit around all day and party and do basically whatever they want. The ones who show rebellion are put into positions like doctors or police forces that require independent thinking and keep them adequately busy. Perfect, right? If the story was told by one of 99% of people living in this world, the world would be a utopia. However, our main character realizes that the surgery also makes the people a little bit stupid and more inclined to follow leaders and be peaceful. Similarly, in 1984, for all we know, most people are happy living their thoughtless worlds without going much deeper than their day to day happiness, not ever wanting more. However, our main character realizes the discrepancies in day to day life and starts to question life. If the story had been told from one of the zombie-like humans or from one of the people in power, we would see a utopia. Since it’s from Winston’s perspective, it’s a dystopia. I recently read a book, Across the Universe by Beth Revis, in which everyone in the society had interbred so that everyone had an olive skin colour and relatively similar features. Everyone was happy for the most part (again partially due to drugs that subdued most of their independent thoughts) until (long and complicated backstory short) a redhead shows up in their society. In Divergent, most people are happy because most people fit into the system–it’s just our main character that doesn’t fit into natural categories and hence begins to question things.

I could write an essay here on the topic (dystopian literature is just so fascinating!) but I’ll stop; I think I’ve made my point. Dystopias in today’s literature tend to be utopias for most of the people involved. It’s just those darn people who want to think freely and have their own independent minds and their own opinions who come and screw everything up.

Works cited:

“Dystopia.” Oxford English Dictionary. Web. 20 Oct. 2014.

“Utopia.” Oxford English Dictionary. Web. 20 Oct. 2014.

Posted on by Ema Barnes

Yellowstone National Park: Pelican Valley 2014

What started out as a simple, maybe thirteen mile long hike, turned into a drastic 40 mile long camping adventure.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day, three days before I was to leave Yellowstone for the summer. I left my jacket in the car and we started out in the warm heat. Less than two miles in, we stopped for an hour on a bridge to laze around in the water–we had all day, right?

At the first junction, we decided to abandon our original plan of doing a loop of Pelican Valley in favour of heading to Fern Lake for more swimming. This would only add a mile on to our total round trip. Right?

The way to Fern Lake was also the way to Wapiti Lake, which I knew was ten miles from the canyon, where we could walk back to the dorms. Wapiti Lake was only an extra five miles onto Fern Lake. So when we somehow missed the turnoff for Fern Lake it only made sense to continue hiking. What was an extra ten miles? We had plenty of time and we could make it all the way to Canyon, even if it was normally a backpacking escapade.

Around 6PM, we realized we were going past campsites and we kept losing the trail. The tiny map I had on my phone wasn’t aiding much, and we were following an ever winding river. I realized that with over ten miles to go in either direction, we might be back late. Thankfully, one of us had service, so I texted my friend back at Canyon.

After a rest, I realized we were maybe more lost than we thought, so I again borrowed my friend’s phone and called 911 for the first time in my life. The dispatcher was friendly, and with his guidance we figured out where we were.

An hour later, we made it to Wapiti Lake. Phewph! Only ten more miles home, but on a clear cut trail… right?

We walked around the lake and encountered a sign. Wapiti Lake this way, Fern Lake that way. Well. We were already at Wapiti Lake; we didn’t want to go past it… right?

After we’d walked a mile or so towards Fern Lake, it clicked–Fern Lake was the lake we’d missed earlier. We were going in the wrong direction.

Around midnight, our last phone with the only flashlight was down to 20%, despite our efforts to conserve batteries. I called 911 again to alert them of our status. It took a while to get a connection, but they recommended we stay where we were–Pelican Valley is closed from 7PM-9AM for bear management reasons.

I had a feeling that the path we were on was familiar. I had a feeling that last year, two different friends and I had veered off course and encountered a bear right there. However, without light, we couldn’t continue.

By pure chance, I had bought a lighter the week before. People kept asking me to borrow one so I bought one impulsively for funsies. That lighter allowed us to make a fire and saved us from hypothermia.

After five hours spent huddling around the fire, the sun began to come up. We rose haggardly and began hiking once more. In less than five minutes, I recognised where we were and regained all my excitement–there were only about eight miles left!

The sunrise over Pelican Valley was the most gorgeous sunrise I’d ever seen despite the exhaustion and the cold that riddled me. We’d made it.

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The sign where it all went wrong, and the sign we had never been happier to see about fifteen hours later.
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The river we mistakenly followed for a while.
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Elk skulls–a few of the exciting skeletons we saw that day.
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It started raining soon after sunrise.

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Posted on by Ema Barnes

Yellowstone National Park: Petrified Trees

We tried to go up to see the Petrified Trees; however, a herd of bison decided to march by us.
An hour or so later, we made it up. Petrified trees are form when plants are trapped beneath other materials. Later, the plants decay and materials get into the cast left, and these create stone trees that look just like real plants. The more popular site near Roosevelt is now behind glass as tourists continually took pieces with them; however, this lesser known spot was an incredible look at geology in action.

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Posted on by Ema Barnes

Yellowstone National Park: Seven Mile Hole 2014

I’ll have scars from this hike for the rest of my life. In the first half mile of this hike, I fell flat onto my knees. Without stopping to look at the blood forming, we kept going. At the bottom, we had heard that there was a thermal feature somewhere, and we decided to look for it. Clambering around off trail, I lost my grip and tumbled about forty or fifty feet straight down a ravine, cutting the holes in my knees deeper and creating a lovely hole in my shoulders. We made it back to the river and found a little conjoining pool with water to wash me off. While we were standing ankle deep there, I started sinking a little, and all of a sudden jolted forward–the water deeper down was hot; we’d found the thermal feature!

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