I just applied to a job with a REALLY involved application system, and one of the questions was “Do you have a sense of humor? Explain.” and I read that as “tell a joke” and so now this 90 minute long assessment is punctuated at the end with like the worst punny garbage and I don’t know if that improves or worsens my chances at getting hired.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree who lived on the Navajo Reservation during his early years as a child.
Give me a child Half Navajo Jesse McCree who was called bilagaana teasingly by others for not looking Navajo, but still proudly proclaimed that he was Diné whenever someone tried to say he was white.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree who was taught the Navajo language and would use it in prayer and song to protect the ones he loved most.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree who learned about the importance of family and community.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree growing up bitter towards government organizations like Overwatch for not helping his family and letting the government take more land from the reservation.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree who joined the Deadlocks out of spite because Deadlocks was actively undermining Government and Overwatch operations throughout the west.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree, after being hauled off by Overwatch kicking and screaming, being especially aggressive towards Reyes and Morrision for basically forcing him to work for an organization that hasn’t done jack for his people.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree eventually feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere after the first year or so in Blackwatch. Finally succumbing to all the micro-aggressions of his past because he felt that he was unworthy of calling himself a Diné. Andeven though he was so proud of his heritage, he couldn’t be proud in himself.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree getting his first actual paycheck and anonymously donating a good 90% of it to charitable organizations working within the Navajo Reservation. And feeling like that’s all he could really do, so he keeps donating large chunks every paycheck.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree teaching young Fareeha, despite telling himself he would always be an outsider in any circumstance, a few words in Diné bizaad and learning to love and speak the language again. Learning to pass down the knowledge because he looks to her as though she was family.
Give me half Navajo Jesse McCree becoming comfortable talking to people about his heritage again. Learning to let it become an aspect of him again. Being proud of who he is again.
you are dragged to dance class by your friend, but don’t realize the guy
she practices with is the same dude you walked in on with another girl
at the frat party :-((
You shouldn’t have let Mina drag you to her dance studio, instant regret seeping like thick tar through your bones and clumping your insecurities in one erratic bunch. The floors appeared so smooth and polished, the fluorescent lighting casting bright scars to litter the wood and bubble an unwavering taunt about how slippery the surface could be. Mirrors were plastered to the front wall, all spiffy and spotless while intimidatingly large speakers pumped melodies of music into open air.
The principal reason for you winding up in a place like this was because you uttered one mindless sentence, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind learning to dance,” to Mina one afternoon, and since then she’d been dead set about hauling you to the studio she practiced at. It was just after four o'clock as Mina’s grip on your fingers slithered away, leaving you to stand in an empty dressing room while she shed her attire for something more suitable. You had a change of clothes in your bag too, but you were hesitant to slip them on, mostly because one simpering thought was staining the corners of your mind and gnawing at your flesh.
Mina really should have told you earlier she practiced dance with, Kwon Soonyoung, the attractive blonde that you accidentally stumbled in on screwing some girl at a frat party. The memory cut through your brain in a spastic flash, until the only depiction blotching across your eyelids was the girl propped against the bathroom sink, wisps of hair dancing before her face and the obscurities she relentlessly keened.