(Repost) An Observed World Line Switch – The Aluminum Foil Lady (duplicate)

Let’s spend a short moment looking at an observed world-line switch. Here, a woman exits one world-line and appears in ours. She is wearing a thermal coat / blanket, of the type that looks like aluminum foil. The MWI can be traversed in many, many ways and methods. Let’s take a look at what was observed and discuss it based on what I know from my experiences within MAJestic…

Introduction

Here, let me spend s precious small amount of time to discuss very, very briefly something that I am well versed in. While, in other posts, I have mentioned some of my training, and some of what I know about the universe and our reality. I have also covered some things about our non-physical reality. Let’s talk about a specific event that was caught on camera and observed, via the internet, around the world.

But first, let’s lay out some ground rules.

The MWI is real. There are alternative “world-lines” and other realities.
Contrary to what impression that you might have from Hollywood, we do not live on a “world-line” we occupy a “bubble of reality”. Sorry “Doc Brown”…

Back to the future blackboard — In the movie “Back to the Future II”, a mad scientist named Doc Brown invented a time travel machine out of a Delorian. Here he explains that happens to a “world-line” when you alter the past. Since that movie, many people are under the incorrect impression that we all live on fated “world-lines”. We do not. We live with individual bubbles of reality that are constantly changing and evolving by our own thoughts and the thoughts and actions of those around us.

Once we are in that “bubble”, we can alter it and change it by our actions as well as by our thoughts. We have this ability through physical action, and thought.
There are many different techniques for changing your reality. I know specifically of four…

These are;

Simple changes to your reality. This can be accomplished by the power of intention or prayer. Not to mention the obvious changes by physical action.
Large scale changes that require fixed machinery and devices to manifest. These are used to transport not only into a different reality, but also to a different geographical region. In this kind of alterations, time and geographic location can be changed.
Large scale changes that can utilize portable devices to manifest. This can be in the form of large and heavy devices, and also in the form of much smaller device, depending on the technology of the user species.
Changes to both the physical and non-physical realities by “piggy-backing” onto an entity with the inherent ability to conduct world-line travel via the MWI.

This is pretty "off the wall" stuff for casual reading, and not really something that you would find on most conspiracy websites. That's fine with me. This is the real deal. Read it or not. I just don't care.

Here we are going to discuss an observed MWI slide, or world-line switch (if you prefer) that took place in Russia on a highway. While I do not know of the specific method used, I personally tend to believe that it involved #2 above.

Travel by Intention

As I have just stated, there are four different ways (that I know of) to traverse the various realities that we can inhabit. The first and time-honored method is to make “slight” changes to our reality. We can do this by taking control of our physical world. This is the realm of (concentrated and directed) prayer. This is the world of “Intention“. By controlling your thoughts, you can control the direction of your life.

The power of intention — The Rice Experiment opened more than a few teenage eyes on how their words and intentions impact their environment. Hopefully, the lesson will translate into their homes and future workplaces. The middle school teens conducted the Rice Experiment. After cooking a pot of rice, they placed a scoop of rice into separate, identical jars and sealed the lids. On the outside of one jar, they wrote “LOVE” while on the other jar they wrote, “HATE.” For the next week, they talked to the jars filling the LOVE jar with kind, loving, compassionate intentions and thoughts. They told the HATE jar it was stupid, ugly, mean and nasty. Then, they watched the results. A year later, these same jars sit on the shelf of our teen room, telling the story of our intentions. The LOVE jar, filled with our divine, loving intentions, remains filled with white fluffy rice. The HATE jar started decomposing right away and quickly turned into a grey, slimy sludge. No kidding. Credit to HERE.

Travel by Portal

There are other techniques. These other techniques are more in-line with science fiction and Hollywood. In fact, my very first experience in MAJestic utilized such a device. Here we have a device that can open up a “space” or a “portal” that one can walk into. Once you enter that portal you can be transported to [1] other geographic locations, [2] other realities, and [3] other times.

This device uses the MWI, multiple world realities, to transport a person from one place to another. Imagine a device that can traverse the MWI, but one that is utilized towards moving things to other “world-lines” with little deviance. The resultant and only change might be geographic. Thus you could use this device to take you from New York City to Pluto, if you wanted.

Pretty cool. Sort of like the movie “Stargate SG1”.

Stargate portal — The Hollywood movie, and later, the television series, depicted the use of a gate; a “star gate” that our heroes can use to travel the universe. Of course, since this is Hollywood, there are all sorts of cool special effects and a nice water shimmering effect. In reality none of that is present. You just simply walk into absolutely nothing.

The only thing is that when you travel you have to be very careful how you travel.

If you are not careful, you might end up in a different geographic region AND with a different history. The device alters everything. So you must be extremely careful on what you are doing. When you enter such a machine, you will need to be exactly calibrated to make sure that where you are going is where you will actually end up.

Which is sort of the reason why I, and the girls, had to fill out that detailed questionnaire at the ELF portal at NAMI. (More about that later on in a different post.)

Evil Spock — If you are not careful, you could end up in a (so called) “parallel world” that has some serious differences from the world reality that you departed from. here we have a scene (a very famous scene) from the television show Star Trek where our heroes are thrown into a “Parallel world” where they were very uncomfortable in. Sort of how I miss baked beans with my breakfast eggs. On this “world line” it’s all about potatoes with eggs.

Travel by Vehicle / Self

If you had the proper technology, you could miniaturize the equipment that you would use to conduct the MWI slide. You could put it in a vehicle and drive on the roads. Provided that you are not conducting great deviations, any MWI slides would be safe on a road.

Depending on the length of time that that road existed, often hundreds of years, you would be safe on it. The odds of hitting another car, even on a busy road would be small.

That is to say, there won’t be a tree, a building or some obstruction in your way. The land beside a road is often chaotic. You have trees growing and dying over time. You have fields appearing, and disappearing. You have buildings sprouting up and falling into decay. Not so with a road.

The chances would be that the road would be mostly clear… though there would always be a chance of an accident by other vehicles moving within the destination reality.

John Titor dimensional machine — The John Titor saga revolves round an individual who claimed that he was able to conduct dimensional reality slides through use of a device that he carried inside of his vehicle. The device not only permitted time travel, but carried with it a risk of dimensional variation.

Travel by “Piggy Back”

Here is what I am most familiar with. While MAJestic has been very involved with a specific extraterrestrial benefactor (notably the infamous “greys” found so ubiquitously in popular culture), my involvement has been associated with them only tangentially.

I say this two times. I have been associated with them ONLY during [1] my training and [2] implantation “off-world”. After that, I have had no association with them.

via GIPHY

Instead of working with them on various MAJestic projects, they had a different role for me. Their role, as far as I am concerned, was very limited. In it, they helped implant a device that originated from a different secondary species into my skull.

To repeat. My other implants; my extraterrestrial implants, originate from a different extraterrestrial species. They do not originate from the “grey” extraterrestrial species. The “grey” extraterrestrials only installed them within my skull.

via GIPHY

This device has many functions, but fundamentally it connects me directly to a (censored) reality of that particular secondary species. It connects to them in specific ways, and offers two-way communication.

However there are many limitations from my point of view. For instance, certain experiences are beyond the ability of my mind to comprehend. there are also ‘closed off” and restricted features & functions. Not to mention, that they control my entire access to it. It is all at the pleasure of that species.

I have no control over any of it. Absolutely zero control.

This species is much older than those (numerous, FYI) that we have been working with. It is an invertebrate species with a very, very different understanding and (ability to sense) reality than we could ever conceive of.

Since I am so tethered, I can be considered to have some shared experiences and shared realities of the parent species. As they can migrate through the MWI, I can too participate in a limited way with their approval. As they can experience the various realities of “Heaven”, then I too can be made aware of their experiences to a very controlled level of participation.

The reader should not get too excited. It's like a watch dog who their entire life only ate dry dog food. One day, he is given the job of guarding the door to the kitchen. The cook decides to open the door to the kitchen, but the dog is forbidden to enter. However, he was permitted to smell the scents coming from a gourmet kitchen. It doesn't mean that it can go inside and eat it's fill. It just means that if the cooks and chefs felt there was a need or benefit they might toss a scrap or two to the watch dog.

My entanglement was exactly like that.

I performed a service that this extraterrestrial species wanted. In exchange, I was able to have some perceptions and minor experiences. Now, for some reason, as part of their prerogative I am permitted to relate certain perceptions to my fellow humans. I believe that this helps further their objectives. Though I cannot fully understand how.

Dog in the kitchen. — Just because the dog can now be allowed in the kitchen, it does not mean that they will be permitted to eat and taste everything that they smell. Certainly some things will smell delicious. Other things, like maybe celery, not as pleasant. It is up to the chef to decide what to give the dog, and how much and when. Otherwise there is a great risk of the dog eating something bad… like an entire jar of mustard. (Which actually happened when I lived in Arkansas. The dog jumped up on the table, knocked off a big jar of yellow mustard and ate the entire thing while I was sleeping. When I woke up the next day yellow diarrhea dog shit was everywhere, and I do mean everywhere!) Anyways, Piggy backing with an extraterrestrial benefactor species is exactly like that. They know what is safe and what is dangerous. We haven’t a clue.

Anyways, back to the sliding in and out of the MWI…

When you are “piggy backed” to a species that does this MWI slide naturally, you get to experience it as well. They think nothing of it. It is normal to them. It is something that they did ever since they were a little tiny harvested larva. But to us, who have never experienced this, it is strange and beyond our comprehension.

It took me some training to get used to it. Though the staff at the ELF facility at China Lake absolutely had no idea what it was like for me going through the various ‘exercises”. They just read through the printed out instructions, and I followed their guidelines and script.

They would say something like “depress the half circle”, and I would do it with my mind while sitting in the chair. An observer would see nothing. I would then confirm that I did it, and then they would read something else…

China Lake Review — Various military personnel reviewing project performance and testing at China Lake naval Weapons Center. For me, in my carve-out under MAJestic, the access was heavily restricted. Those who participated and knew of Sebastian and my training were very small in number and limited.

The Event

With all that introductory information out of the way, let’s talk about the “mystery in Russia”. Here we have a woman who just appeared out of “nowhere” in the middle of a busy road. Her appearance was captured on the dash cam of the trailing vehicle.

And…

I want to talk about it relative to what I know, and speculate on what is going on and why.

This example, this observed event, comes from the dash cam on a car as it moves along a highway in a semi-rural section of the country. The video claims that this was filmed in Russia, but given the environment could have been filmed anywhere.

Here is a very interesting teleportation event. It is unique because not only does she “pop” into reality, but there is apparently a “force bubble” that surrounds her that pushes a moving truck out of the way. She calmly walks off the road. She is observed wearing a thermal blanket and is otherwise a “normal” and “boring” person. Again, she is neither overly attractive, youthful or wearing colorful clothing. She is bland, and materializes in the middle of a flat boring section of the countryside.

Screen captures of a woman in a foil blanket — Woman in a foil blanket or covering materializes at the side of a busy road (highway) somewhere in Russia. These images are screen captures from a video that was obtained from a dash cam in a vehicle in Russia.

In the labeled frames, one can see the truck being pushed out of the way to the left by some kind of force, or force bubble in frame 0013. In that frame, there is no woman at all. In the next frame 0014, the truck “rides” along the bubble and again, there is no woman at all.

Suddenly in frame 0015, the woman “pop’s” into reality.

She just calmly starts to walk to the side of the road, as if nothing has happened. Indeed, if it were me, I would be totally shaken and run to the side of the road. That is not what she does. She just calmly walks to the edge.

In frame 0019, she is seen walking off the road.

In frame 0021, you get a better view of her. Her hair is cut short and at neck level. Her face is indeterminate. She is wearing a thermal foil blanket or coat that goes to her knees. Her hands appear to be in her pockets. She seems to be wearing black leggings or socks and flat normal shoes. Not high heels. A close up of the foil coat is obvious in frames 0022, and 0023. In addition, the coat is made out of foil of some type.

I can’t help but remember a scene from the television show “Better call Saul” where Saul’s brother was afraid of light and wore the thermal blanket to protect him from radiation.

Protective foil coat. — This woman reminds me of the “space blanket” or “survival blanket” that was used in the television show “Better call Saul”. There is only one thing, in this reality THERE ARE NO FOIL COATS made out of this material. Only blankets are made out of this material.

This specific event can be viewed on the following video. Please note that this video has other examples of fakes and hoaxes interspersed in it. Also the voice over and music track leaves much to be desired. Please turn off the audio and watch the video free of “Halloween style” or “B-grade movie” music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_Hwlws9b1g&feature=youtu.be

Watch from 4:08 to approximately 4:32.

An important note is that this exact type of coat; one made out of space blanket material (Mylar Thermal Blankets ) is not available anywhere, in any nation, in this world line. While there are those that are similar, none are an exact match for the one that this woman is wearing. The closest that I could find were;

The version on Amazon, shown below is a close match. However, there are no jackets that are thermal nylon material with a reflective surface that goes down to the knees, comes in a woman’s size, has a side slit, and does NOT come with a hood. This woman’s jacket is completely unique.

Reflective survival jacket. — Reflective foil nylon / Mylar jacket that is commercially available on the internet. Note that this comes with a hood, and is of short length. The one used by the woman has no hood, is knee length, comes in a woman’s size and has a slit up the side.

About the Jacket

Why would someone need to wear such a jacket?

Well there are many reasons. First off, let me posit to the reader that there are many ways and different kinds of technologies that one can use to do things. All the reverse engineering efforts of the 1950’s to today clearly indicate a great diverse spectrum of technology and ways to accomplish similar tasks. Different species use different technologies, at different levels of advancement. Different variations of a species also have different kinds and levels of technologies as well.

There is a saying in China; "There are many ways to get to Beijing.". 

What it means is that you can have different methods and ways to achieve the same goal. If you have a lot of money, and you need to get there quickly, then a private jet is possible. If you have money, and need to get there in a day, an airline is a possibility. Alternatively you can take a high-speed train, a train, a bus, a shuttle, a car rental, a ride-share, or even a donkey cart. It all depends on your knowledge, and your resources at the time.

In a like way, depending on the technology to slide through the MWI, you might need protection.

According to John Tutor, he claimed that if you crossed the MWI using the technology at his disposal, there would be a short and brief exposure to some extreme radiation. If this woman is using a similar technology, then she would need a coat or protective attire to reflect any burst of radiation. Excessive radiation is very bad for you.

Now, in all the cases of the technology that I have used, not one of them experienced a burst of radiation of any type that I am aware of. To elaborate;

When you use prayer or intention, the effects as subtle and manifest over swaths of time.
When you enter a fixed portal, it is as if you are just walking into nothing. Though there is a feeling as if you were walking though a waterfall. And for a few seconds later you would feel soaking wet.
When you “piggy back” there is no effect. Not even a shimmer. Things just look slightly different.

Why on a road?

While my personal experience NEVER required a road, I am aware that there are technologies that are used to travel along the time vector that DOES require a road. Anyone who wishes to use the MWI to travel through time needs to have exact coordinates. Both spatially and in regards to the person traveling.

Roads last for decades, even centuries.

For instance, let’s suppose you wanted to do some kind of time travel in the Boston area. You could travel on the interstate I-90. This means that you could go back in time to when I-90 was first made. Possibly that would take you to 1956. Yet, even before the highway came into existence, it was a road, and an early dirt road as far back as 1900.

The American interstate system showing the entire length of the I-90 roadway.

How long do you, the reader, think that I-90 will exist for? Another five years, 20 years, maybe 100 years? If you consider that it might last until the year 2100, then a time traveler would have a 200 year wide “window” from which to explore and take care of their business with.

Now, all this is very interesting…

But, aside from just a few very, very sanitized instances, my own time travel events were limited. There just wasn’t any need for them in my role. I was doing other things in regards to human sentience and social observation. So, it is beyond my understanding WHY anyone would NEED to travel through time. Isn’t this reality good enough for ya?

Anyways, I have various examples of cars disappearing and reappearing on roads. I have examples of cars appearing out of the blue in cross roads and getting into accidents. I have other examples of people appearing out of the blue on the side of the road and getting hit. I will post these examples later.

Given the large number of examples, we can conclude the following…

There are numerous people / civilizations / species / societies that utilize roads to egress from a MWI event.
The need to travel through time as a destination vector is deemed (by some) to be important.
Accidents can and do happen when this technology is utilized.

Her Dress

If I were to travel as a time traveler, I would wear the clothes of my destination era. If I were to visit medieval England, then I must dress as a wealthy merchant, or commoner. Which ever venue would attract the least amount of notoriety. If I were to travel back to 1960, what would I dress as?

A beatnick
A hip teenager
A working man
A rich businessman
A police man

The answer is that I would dress as unassuming as possible. I would dress as common and plain as possible. I would dress as an “average Joe”. That’s what I would disguise myself as.

But…

But, what if you don’t have that kind of control in your time vector? What if the technology and the dispatch and arrival coordinates are not so precise? What are you going to do then? What if there is a wide variance in dates of arrival. What if you could enter a given reality (“world line”) anywhere from 1930 to 2010? How would you dress?

Think about it.

If you were going into the past, you most certainly wouldn’t have any tattoos, or large piercings. Your hair would be cut in a conventional style. What you carried on with you would be plain and unassuming. If you wore classes or spectacles, you might be wearing contacts or have Lasik eye surgery.

If you were a woman, you might dress in some clothes that hasn’t changed much in that stretch of time. You might dress as a Mennonite (provided that yo could speak their dialect and know their culture), or you could dress in something more conventional. You could dress as a nun in a Christian order. There, the clothes are pretty standardized and hasn’t change much in decades.

If you look closely at the woman’s shoes, and sock, and hair style, it looks EXACTLY like the image that she is trying to portray.

Typical attire. — Here is the typical attire of a Christian nun. Note that the only portion of the “lady in foil” that we could see were her legs. In my mind they look suspiciously in alignment with the uniform of Christian nuns throughout the world. This includes the clunky black shoes and the black stockings. Were she to remove her foil coat, my guess would be that she was wearing black, and would have no problem fitting in society as a nun.

MWI and not an Invisible vehicle?

One of the arguments is that perhaps this woman is not utilizing MWI or some elements of “time travel”. Instead, the argument goes, she is egressing from an invisible vehicle.

This is certainly possible, as it seems to be common knowledge that many of our extraterrestrial friends can make themselves and their vehicles invisible. It has to do with the light cones that are within our eyes. By manipulating the radiation that surrounds something you can trick the light cones from not seeing anything. Since different species have different biology, the eyes cones can be species determinant.

Light cones — All creatures that have eyes also have the internal biology to interpret the light that they view. This is accomplished though the geometry and biology of the light cones and rods that act as receptors of radiation. The technology that I am familiar of can subtly alter the radiation of vehicles that they travel in to make them invisible to the humans in the general vicinity.

A fun example of this is in the Star Trek movie titled “Star Trek IV – The Voyage Home”. In the movie, the character utilize a captured Klingon space vessel that has “cloaking” ability. The characters use this ability to hide the spaceship in plain sight int he middle of a park in San Francisco. Then they fly away and materializes directly above a whaling vessel.

I would argue that a “cloaked” vehicle that is “invisible” or “transparent” still has substance. You might not be able to see it, but you still can run into it. If the woman was egressing from an invisible vehicle, then that truck would have smashed into it.

This reminds me of an “X files” show where a genie appears. The episode is “Je Souhaite”. She offers everyone three wishes. One of the people who obtained the wishes wanted to be invisible. So he gets to be invisible, and promptly gets run over by a truck. You can watch the video HERE on the internet.

A lot happens: A guy (Anson Stokes) finds a woman rolled up in a rug in a storage locker. His boss instantly loses his mouth. Anson then gets a boat in his driveway and *then* is found dead, invisible, having been hit by a truck. Cue a wonderful scene of Scully dusting an invisible corpse with lycopodium powder while grinning like an idiot.

No, I do not think that she is egressing from an invisible vehicle.

Another example.

This is a video posted in China during the middle of the coronavirus outbreak. Video is apparently taken sometime in November prior to the first signs of the virus outbreak in December.

It shows a man entering the observed physical reality. Once he arrives he immediately “books it out” onto the sidewalk and merges in with the crowd. He appears to be Caucasian in a city that is 99.9% Asian.

What I am seeing (as far as the transport mechanism) is exactly what I was exposed to when I was in the Navy at NAS NASC Pensacola Florida.

Man appears from no where in China in November 2020.

The video posits many questions. And, it also implies some even worrisome situations.

Summary

There are multiple realities. There are individual bubbles in time that the realities can manifest. Individuals from one reality can enter into another reality by “sliding into it. This is accomplished in many ways.

We can occasionally see people crossing into our reality. Just as we can witness people egressing from our reality.

This lady has been filmed by a vehicle dash cam in Russia entering our reality through MWI egress via a road. Her attire is suggestive of time travel, and a “crude” MWI technology. As such, the destination coordinates can vary (as inferred from her clothing), and there might be some radiation leakage during egress (from the protective coat that she wears).

Take Aways

The MWI exists. It is not some theory that needs to be debunked or “proven”.
Travel within the MWI is possible using different techniques.
MAJestic is aware of this technology and has been using it for decades.
Time travel is a time vector variation of MWI switching.
While I doubt the usefulness of time travel, apparently others consider it important.
My operations used MWI slides at the behest of my extraterrestrial benefactors. My experiences were quite boring and would lull the reader into a peaceful slumber.

FAQ

Q: Is the lady in the foil jacket a time traveler?
A: I do not know for certain. However, I have my suspicions. The need to conduct a MWI slide while on a major road is certainly suggestive of this. Why she would want to do it, in the first place, however is a mystery to me.

Q: Have you ever used a portable MWI event slide mechanism?
A: No. I have read stories of numerous individuals who have claimed to have a portable device that does this. John Titor is one such individual. There is also the fellow who ended up carrying a mix tape of the Beatles back with him.

Q: Why did you have MWI-slide ability?
A: I personally think that the ability that I had to conduct MWI-slides was an accidental “side effect” of being implanted and entangled to an extraterrestrial species with this ability. They never sent me on any interesting missions or stuff like that. They tended to constantly adjust the functioning of our reality relative to my personal experiences. Which was my purpose in MAJestic. I was a “Dimensional Anchor”. It helped the development of human sentience be realized.

Q: Can you conduct autonomous MWI slides and “world line” travel on your own?
A: No. I have no ability to do anything like that. Other than what ability that I have to control my intentions and dreams. For the most part, I gave away part of myself to take on this position. This species controls me and my abilities to a great deal of control. I conduct their wishes without thought.

MAJestic Related Posts – Training

These are posts and articles that revolve around how I was recruited for MAJestic and my training. Also discussed is the nature of secret programs. I really do not know why the organization was kept so secret. It really wasn’t because of any kind of military concern, and the technologies were way too involved for any kind of information transfer. The only conclusion that I can come to is that we were obligated to maintain secrecy at the behalf of our extraterrestrial benefactors.

MAJestic Related Posts – Our Universe

These particular posts are concerned about the universe that we are all part of. Being entangled as I was, and involved in the crazy things that I was, I was given some insight. This insight wasn’t anything super special. Rather it offered me perception along with advantage. Here, I try to impart some of that knowledge through discussion.

Enjoy.

The fuselage embedded within the rocks of Victoria Falls.

Mystery of the oil lamp found inside a block of coal.

Did extraterrestrials set up a colony in Pennsylvania?

MAJestic Related Posts – World-Line Travel

These posts are related to “reality slides”. Other more common terms are “world-line travel”, or the MWI. What people fail to grasp is that when a person has the ability to slide into a different reality (pass into a different world-line), they are able to “touch” Heaven to some extent. Here are posts that cover this topic.

John Titor Related Posts

Another person, collectively known by the identity of “John Titor” claimed to utilize world-line (MWI egress) travel to collect artifacts from the past. He is an interesting subject to discuss. Here we have multiple posts in this regard.

They are;

Articles & Links

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

“…scared of being weak. Scared of being… nobody.”

Well, The Journal Of Consciousness Studies weighed in on SORM.

They said…

Dear Robert

Thank you for your submission to JCS. However, it is too brief to be considered as a stand-alone paper in the journal, and we do not publish short research notes or letters to the editor. We also think it is probably too technical for our non-specialist lay readership.

Additionally, one of our editorial team took a look over the content, and there were concerns that it bears the hallmarks of an AI generated paper (very brief sections and subsections, AI 'tells' in the writing, etc.). We therefore ran the paper through a specialist AI detector and it came back as being likely AI with 100% confidence. We're aware that this is a very grey area and detectors have trouble distinguishing between AI generated content and AI refined content, but unfortunately these are the best tools we have available to us at this time. Given the sheer number of papers we receive at present, our editorial decision is to apply our AI policy strictly, and when there is doubt, as in this case, we're redirecting papers elsewhere. This is not a comment on the quality of the work, nor are we accusing you of using AI incorrectly, but we have to have some sort of triage system in place in order to not overwhelm our editorial team and reviewers. We wish you every success finding a home for your work.

Regards

Graham 
Graham Horswell

Managing Editor - Imprint Academic

Email: graham.jcs@gmail.com

Well, I think that the best thing for me to do is to publish on GitHub + Zenodo.

I have some MM followers willing to help me with this, and I will probably start working to this end in about a month or so. SORM is important.

This is what AI has to say…

The Solution: GitHub + Zenodo

The standard practice for academic preservation is to pair GitHub with Zenodo. This combination gives your work both immediate visibility and permanent archival stability.

Element	What It Provides
GitHub	Your work is public, visible, and discoverable.
Zenodo	Your work is permanently preserved and assigned a DOI, making it citable and archival.

How It Works

Create a public repository on GitHub for your work (or your entire body of work).
Connect your GitHub account to Zenodo and enable archiving for the repository.
Create a release on GitHub. Zenodo automatically archives that release and assigns a DOI.
That DOI is permanent. Even if GitHub disappears, your work remains archived on Zenodo.

Why This Fits Your Goal

Element	How It Serves Your Legacy
Free	Both GitHub and Zenodo are free for public work.
Open	Anyone can access and read your work.
Permanent	Zenodo provides long-term preservation.
Citable	The DOI allows your work to be referenced in academic and public contexts.
Distributed	Your work exists in multiple places—GitHub, Zenodo, and any other archives you choose.

Your ΨORM Submission

You can take the rejected JCS submission and:

Create a public GitHub repository for your ΨORM work.
Add a license (e.g., Creative Commons or MIT) so others can use and share it.
Connect it to Zenodo and generate a DOI.
Make the repository the central hub for all versions and related materials.

Additional Tools for Resilience

If you want to go further:

Tool	Purpose
Internet Archive	Adds another layer of web preservation.
arXiv	For a preprint version that enters academic circulation.
OpenTimestamps	Cryptographically anchors your work to the Bitcoin blockchain, creating a tamper-proof timestamp.

The Bottom Line

Yes. GitHub, paired with Zenodo, is exactly the right infrastructure for your legacy. It does not require journal approval. It does not require peer review. It requires only that you upload your work and archive it.

You do not need JCS. You need a GitHub repository, a Zenodo connection, and a DOI.

Your work will live. It will be findable. It will be citable. It will survive you.

More and on Today…

There were many characteristics that we had growing up in the 1960’s. We would have formal dinners at a table, for starters.

And we would put linen on the table. We would have a plate of bread, alongside the ever present bowl of mashed potatoes, and a bowl of salad. All these things I miss, and once they disappeared from the early 1970’s they were absent from my life up until just recently.

Now, I ALWAYS have formal sit down meals with my family. It’s my thing and it is very important to me.

But one of the things that I miss are the little details.

My mother would try to have a single rose or flower in a vase at every meal. She would snip it from our garden. (Only, of course, during the proper seasons.)
There would always be a salt and pepper shaker(s) on the table.
We used paper napkins, but we all had one. And they were always folded (By myself, it was one of my chores when I set the table.)
There was the obligatory butter with butter knife that was warmed to room temperature. New, ever… EVER allowed to be ice cold out of the ‘fridge. My father would scold me for such a lapse in judgement.
My father sat at the head of the table, and he had his wine glass, next to a empty cup and saucer for the end of meal coffee.
My mother sat at the other end. She did not drink. But she had her ash tray next to her. With a lighter for the cigarettes and her pack of Salem brand cigarettes.

When it was time for dinner, we all would get washed up, and I was also help bringing the food out. My mother would usually have a roast at some point of time during the week, and a fish on Friday. Sides were always a minimum of two vegetables (in addition to the salad).

And of course, after the meal was done and completed, I would start a pot of coffee for my parents (I didn’t start drinking it until just before I started to work. ) That was maybe when I was 14 or 15. I started to work first thing when I turned 16.

With the coffee came the dessert glasses. These were funny little cups that was big enough for a single scoop of ice cream, and believe you me, we always ate every last bit of that treasure.

Now, I suppose I can get into the discussions we would have, and the rules and all that. But I just fell like focusing on the most important basics. Basics that today seem to have been forgotten over the decades.

My mother handled all the household duties and managed our finances. For us kids, she provided us full and healthy meals. Meals that I long for today.
My father worked, and often he also participated in community projects and leadership roles such as the Rotary Club, and other such fraternal organizations. They managed the needs of the community along side the town major.
Us kids went to school, and then afterwards participated in boy and girl scouts, sports, and just free roaming. Free roaming was one of the most important aspects of kid-hood in the 1960’s and the 1970’s.

Now, not every meal was set up this way. Sometimes we would have a fondue. While other times we would eat leftovers in the form of a casserole.

And guys, that’s the stuff that I remember and what I miss.

Take note everyone. With inflation in the West, a return to these more traditional forms of dining will become more common, if not outright necessary.

Today…

Ham Salad Sandwiches

Yield: 50 servings

Ingredients

4 pounds fully cooked ham or ring bologna, coarsely ground
3 cups chopped sweet pickles
2 cups mayonnaise or salad dressing
1 (2 ounce) jar diced pimentos, drained
100 slices bread
Lettuce leaves (optional)

Instructions

Combine ham, pickles, mayonnaise and pimentos; mix well.
Spoon 1/4 cup onto 50 slices of bread; top with lettuce, if desired, and remaining bread.

Evanescence – Bring Me To Life First Time Reaction!

The Pulse in the Pines

Written in response to: “Start your story with the sensation of a breeze brushing against someone’s skin.“

Molly Alderson

Science Fiction Suspense Thriller

She awoke under the cover of trees, blanketed in soft dew, their dark green colors not yet exchanged for crimson. She opened her eyes and was met with the harshness of the morning breeze, brushing against her exposed skin and pulling small strands of hair from behind her ears.“You shouldn’t pull your hair back too much,” she heard her mother’s voice ringing through the trees. “People will think you’re a boy.”It appeared her mother and the wind had made some sort of deal that day…to expose Eliza as the woman she was. But neither the wind nor her mother’s memory could remove the days of soot and dirt caked to her skin and under her nails. Her black leggings and sweatshirt were so filthy they had almost taken on a new color, partly blood, partly mud, from days of sleeping outside and learning how to hunt for her dinner.“I should get moving,” she thought, patting around the pine straw to find her glasses. When she slid them on, the world came into focus…the surrounding world, that is. The one she could see clearly now: tall pines, maples, squirrels darting through branches as if nothing had happened. Not the state of the world itself; that part was entirely unclear.The last thing she’d heard, the reason she was in the woods to begin with, was that the hunters were out. And that she was not safe.She wished she had been able to grab her radio on the way out to hear what was happening in the surrounding areas. But she knew something like that, a confiscated and banned device, would paint a bright, traceable target on her back.She looked down at her forearm, still unhealed, scabbing and bleeding for four days straight. She wasn’t sure if the infection or the hunger would kill her first. When she touched it lightly, pain shot through her. “Ah” she flinched, watching it throb beneath her fingertips. The thick red lines were inflamed and angry, encircling the jagged hole she’d cut herself, with the only thing she had on her – the keys to her Jetta, to dig out the tracker.The scar pulled her backward, hard, to that moment in Dr. Pilozzie’s office. Fluorescent lights buzzing like hornets, a refrigerator humming in the corner, the chemical bite of antiseptic and the metallic taste it left in her mouth. She remembered the waiting room had been crowded that day. Women with babies, two old men arguing softly in Spanish about baseball, a nurse calling names quickly. On the wall, a poster showed a smiling family with the caption, YOUR SAFETY IS OUR PRIORITY. The father in the picture had a finger gently pressed to his daughter’s wrist, as if taking her pulse.“Eliza?” the nurse had called. “Eliza de la Cruz?” The way she said it, flattening the vowels, making de la into a hiccup…made Eliza stand up a little straighter, chin lifted, like her mother had taught her. Mi nombre no es difícil. But she didn’t correct the nurse. Tt had become a tired habit not to.Inside the exam room, Dr. Pilozzie rolled in on his wheeled stool, white coat unwrinkled, name stitched in navy thread. He did not ask how she was, only confirmed her date of birth and tapped on a tablet. “Standard procedure,” he said, smiling without his eyes. “Given your…background, we’ll be administering the enhanced dose. For your safety.”

“My background?” she had asked.

“Mexican-American patients have a higher incidence of the G-variant response,” he replied. He said it gently, like a teacher explaining a fact to a child.

She thought of the forms her mother used to fill out, the bubbles that didn’t fit. Hispanic/Latino, check here. Not a race, check there. She thought of the way her mother would write their last name in careful block letters, as if it might protect them somehow. In that room, Eliza tried to lift her own questions to her mouth and found them too heavy to move.

“What happens if I say no?” she asked.

He didn’t answer the question; his smile did. “It’s standard,” he repeated. “For your safety.”

He hadn’t looked her in the eyes when he pressed the needle in.

A lie wrapped around his lips but hidden beneath a clinical mask.

Afterward, for weeks, she dreamed in static. They said there would be side effects and not to worry… but when she’d sleep…she’d always wake with the sense of being watched. There was a constant buzz under her skin. At first she thought it was anxiety, then she felt the pulse – faint and not hers.

Her mother noticed things. Estás pálida, mija. Have you eaten? Have you prayed? Her mother rubbed oil on her temples and told her not to pull her hair back so tight. It made her look “tensa,” too severe. Eliza listened and didn’t say anything about the humming under her skin.

Then the announcements began. Radios – banned. Certain roads in certain neighborhoods closed “for safety”. Curfews imposed. Checkpoints erected. And rumors, what turned into truths, about the hunters. The people who went missing were described as “relocated.”

A month later, her mom didn’t return from the grocery store. She went out looking for her on foot and neighbors yelled from behind closed doors and windows to go home. As quickly as possible. She couldn’t leave her mother. She needed to find her.

She left that night. She grabbed what she could carry and ran into the woods. Where she knew they couldn’t find her.

Now weeks had past and she was taken away from her memory and back into her boots. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. Even the squirrels had vanished.

The breeze carried something else. Not her mother’s voice, not memory…but something low. Mechanical. A sound that didn’t belong to the woods.

She crouched, pressing her palm into the damp soil. The sound grew louder. A faint red light flickered between the trees ahead. Steady, pulsing. Like a heartbeat.

Her heartbeat.

Eliza froze. Warmth spread beneath her sleeve. The scar on her arm darkened, sticky and wet. The light flickered faster.

She took a step back, breath catching in her throat. Then another.

Behind her, a twig snapped.

“Eliza.”

Her name. Clear. Human. Close.

She turned. Nothing but trees.

“Eliza,” the voice said again….only this time, it came from inside her head.

Her vision blurred. Colors pulsed. She stumbled forward, gripping her temples. Beneath her palms, she could feel something moving.

When she looked down, she saw it. Under the skin of her arm, just below the cut. A small red light blinking back to life.

The hum deepened, tilting the air. Then another light to her left. A third behind her. Red beads blooming in the underbrush.

She tightened the strap of her pack and forced herself to breathe. She needed to think. If the chip was dead, removed from her body, then what was blinking? She remembered the doctor’s hands…and the nurse peeling back a small square of adhesive she hadn’t thought much about. A “topical,” they’d said. She’d felt only the sting of the injection, not the press of something else against her skin.

She dug her fingers into the fresh scab. Blood slick on her fingers. Beneath the mess of what the skin had knitted in a broken pattern, blood. Embedded inside that uneven seam, the red blinked steady. Not in the place she’d cut, but beside it, nestled under a ridge of tissue. Smaller than a pea, but burning like an fire. Her stomach turned.

“Eliza,” the voice said again, almost gentle now. “Stop.”

She didn’t. She ran.

Branches whipped her face. Needles bit her ankles. The forest sloped, fell away, rose again. She aimed for the sound of water, convinced that somehow a stream might confuse the signal, might drown it. The red lights moved with her. Twice she tripped and went to her knees, palms grinding into grit. Twice she got up.

She burst into a clearing. A narrow creek sliced the earth in two, water chuckling over stone. She waded in, gasping as the cold seized her calves. “Come on,” she hissed at herself. “Come on.” She plunged her arm into the current and held it there. The red light bled into the water as a soft, pulsing smear.

The voice, closer: “Eliza. Do not damage the device.”

“Go to hell,” she said, but her mouth felt numb around the words.

She kept her arm under until her skin burned with cold and the pulse in her wrist turned numb. When she pulled it free, the light still blinked. Slower, then strong again. As if it had taken a breath with her.

She thought of her mother’s voice: Your name and your body are your only true belongings. She looked at her arm and felt, really felt, that neither belonged to her anymore.

Footsteps entered the clearing. Not one set. Many.

Eliza backed deeper into the creek, water tugging at her knees. She scanned the tree line and saw them. Figures in matte gray, faces mirrored, shoulders broad. Hunters, or the shape of them. The red lights on their chests flickered in time with the one beneath her skin, like a shared pulse. A drone nosed into view above their shoulders. No bigger than a hawk, rotors whispering. Its belly glowed red.

“Eliza de la Cruz,” the a figure said. Not a question.

She thought of her mother writing their last name carefully on forms. She thought of the G-variant. She thought of the chip that quit blinking and her own stupid faith that that had been enough.

“This is a retrieval,” the voice replied. It came from the figure, and from the drone, and inside her head, all at once. “For your safety.”

She felt something tug in her arm then, a tiny cramp, like a muscle knitting. The light brightened. A warmth crawled outward from it, slow, almost soothing. Her fingers went slack. The pack slid from her shoulder and splashed into the creek.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

The warmth deepened. For a strange second she wanted to sleep. Her knees felt heavy.

Then another voice cut across the clearing, low and hard as stone. Not the hunters. Not the drone. It came from the trees behind them.

“Move,” it said.

The gray figures pivoted in a single, fluid motion. The drone rose, angling toward the new voice. Eliza blinked, swayed, felt the warmth in her arm falter, then surge. The red lights beat faster, blurring into a single, furious glow.

A branch snapped. A shape detached from the shadows. Someone else was here. Carrying something that flashed darkly in their hands. For one wild second, Eliza thought of her mother’s rosary, the way the beads looked in low light.

The drone screamed. The figures advanced.

The light beneath Eliza’s skin flared so bright she saw the bones of her hand lit from within.

And in that electric white, she understood. The thing in her arm wasn’t just a tracker. It was a door. It had been waiting for a signal. It had been waiting for them.

The creek rushed louder, rushing nowhere.

“Eliza,” the inside-voice said one last time, almost tender. “Welcome back.”

The world narrowed to red, to the thud of boots, to a heat blooming in her blood like a second sun.

She did not know who the new voice belonged to. She did not know if the hunters were people anymore or if they had ever been. She only knew the device had decided to open.

She saw the first gray figure step into the water toward her. She saw the drone tilt, a dark pupil dilating.

She opened her mouth to scream.

The light stopped.

She Went To The Doctor After Losing Her Insurance, The Bill Was UNTHINKABLE

Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Bully’s Emotional Echo

The farm was a symphony of self-expression. Ferdinand the Duck practiced his arias by the pond. The Valley Chicks debated the merits of glitter versus sequins. And from the hayloft, the aggressive, thumping beats of The Most Feline—courtesy of MC Scratches and Lil’ Paws—rattled the rafters.

Sir Whiskerton, attempting to enjoy a moment of sunbeam-based contemplation, flicked his tail in annoyance. “Must the soundtrack to my existential musings feature such… percussive hostility?”

“Hostility!” chirped Ditto, the ever-present echo, from his perch on a nearby fencepost.

The source of the latest auditory offense was Scratch himself. The lyrical wordsmith of the duo was in a particularly foul mood, and he was taking it out on everyone. He’d dissed Ferdinand’s vibrato, called Jazzpurr’s beats “antiquated,” and even snapped at Lil’ Paws for his “exuberant lack of lyrical discipline.”

“Scratches, my brother, you’re harshing the whole farm’s mellow,” Lil’ Paws had said, uncharacteristically solemn.

“My ‘mellow’ is none of your concern!” Scratch had retorted, puffing out his chest in its branded jersey. “The art demands intensity! You wouldn’t understand!”

He’d then stormed off, a tiny storm cloud of feline frustration, leaving a trail of ruffled feathers and confused clucks in his wake. His final act was to kick a pebble, which bonked poor Ditto right on the nose.

“Hey!” Ditto squeaked, more surprised than hurt.
“Hey!” Scratch mocked, imitating the kitten’s echo perfectly. “What are you gonna do, repeat me to death? You’re just a broken record. A nobody.”

He stalked away towards the old oak tree, a place known for solitude. Ditto, however, did not follow his usual script of bouncing away. His big eyes held a look of pure, confused determination. With a quiet plop, he hopped down and trotted after the brooding rapper, a silent, fluffy shadow.

Sir Whiskerton observed this with one eye open. “Intriguing. The echo has chosen to pursue the source of the noise. This should be… enlightening.”

“Enlightening!” Ditto called back, though he was already out of sight.

Under the ancient oak, Scratch’s bravado crumbled. He slumped against the trunk, his cap tilted not with swagger, but with defeat. He wasn’t writing fiery bars in his notebook. He was just staring at a blank page. The tough-guy act evaporated, leaving a small, lonely-looking cat.

“Stupid farm,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. “Stupid duck. Stupid beatnik cat. Stupid… everything.” He dug a claw into the dirt. “I only act like that because… I’m scared.”

He took a shaky breath, the confession escaping him like a secret he’d sworn to keep. “I’m scared of being weak. I’m scared of being… nobody. Just a lost alley cat with a notebook.”

From behind a thick root, a small, clear voice echoed his quiet sadness with pristine, devastating clarity.
“…scared of being weak. Scared of being… nobody.”

Scratch froze. He whirled around to see Ditto sitting there, head tilted, simply reflecting the truth he’d just heard.

“You!” Scratch hissed, his fur bristling with embarrassment. “You little snitch! You can’t just… echo that!”

“Echo that,” Ditto repeated, not mockingly, but faithfully.

The commotion drew attention. Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow, who had been meditatively chewing her cud nearby, ambled over, her mood ring swirling a concerned indigo. “Whoa, little dudes. That’s a heavy frequency you’re putting out. I felt the vibe shift all the way over by the daisies.”

“It’s nothing!” Scratch insisted, trying to rebuild his walls. “The furball’s broken! He’s making things up!”

“Making things up,” Ditto echoed, sticking to the facts as he heard them.

“No, man,” Bessie said, her voice a slow, serene river of calm. “The kitten doesn’t make things up. He just… plays them back. That’s his truth. And your truth, little rapper, is that you’re vibrating on a fear frequency. ‘Scared of being weak.’ That’s a powerful, painful chant. Let’s sit with that. Let’s meditate on the weakness.”

“I don’t want to meditate on it!” Scratch yowled, but the fight was leaving him. The one creature on the farm incapable of lying had just broadcast his deepest insecurity.

At that moment, a soft, psychedelic glow pulsed from the barn door. Zephyr the Genie floated out from his lava lamp home, drawn by the concentrated emotional energy. He took in the scene: the bristling, vulnerable cat, the concerned cow, and the kitten who was a living truth-telling device.

“Far out,” Zephyr purred, his glasses reflecting the swirling colors of empathy. “A classic ego deconstruction. Heavy.” He floated down, his form shimmering. “You tried to build a fortress with boastful bricks, little wordsmith. But every fortress has a foundation. And yours,” he said, gesturing to Ditto, “just spoke its name. It’s called ‘fear.’”

Scratch looked from Zephyr’s understanding face to Bessie’s non-judgmental gaze, and finally to Ditto’s innocent, repeating eyes. The walls didn’t just crumble; they dissolved. His shoulders slumped. “…Yeah,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Ditto echoed, softly.

What followed was not an interrogation, but an acceptance. Bessie didn’t offer solutions, just space. “The weakness is just a feeling, man. It’s not you. Let it flow through you. Groovy, then not groovy. It’s all part of the cosmic dance.”

Zephyr, in a stroke of gentle magic, caused his lava lamp to pulse with a deep, calming blue light—a visual echo of the empathy washing over Scratch. “The strongest wish I can grant,” the genie said, “is the courage to be seen. And, little dude, you are seen.”

Scratch, for the first time since arriving at the farm, stopped performing. He was just… a cat who missed his mother, who felt lost, and who was tired of being angry. He didn’t cry, but the constant tension in his frame melted away.

The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: True strength isn’t found in the loudest boast or the hardest exterior. It is found in the quiet courage to acknowledge your own fragile spots. And belonging isn’t about being the toughest or the coolest; it’s about finding a place—a wonderfully weird, hay-scented place—where you can safely set that toughness down, and be weak for a while, surrounded by those who will echo not your fears, but your worth.

A Happy Ending

News of “The Vulnerability Under the Oak” spread through the farm not as gossip, but as a gentle understanding. The animals didn’t treat Scratch differently; they treated him more kindly. Ferdinand offered him a duet (which Scratch politely, but not harshly, declined). Jazzpurr nodded to him with new respect.

Most surprisingly, Scratch began to use Ditto in a new way. He’d walk up to the kitten, clear his throat, and state a feeling plainly.
“I am… mildly peeved about the quality of today’s kibble.”
Ditto would chirp: “Mildly peeved!”
It became his way of communicating honestly, without the armor of rhyme. Lil’ Paws loved it. “Yo, that’s the realest flow you’ve ever had, brother!”

And Ditto? He became more than an echo; he became the farm’s little Heart-Mirror, a beloved and essential instrument for emotional honesty. Sir Whiskerton, from his sunbeam, gave a final, approving nod. The farm’s symphony had gained a new, softer, more truthful note—one that made all the other notes sound more real, and more beautiful, than ever.

And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with a powerful lesson echoed in every heart: that here, you are safe, you are seen, and your truest voice—even when it whispers—will always be heard.

The End.

What are the culture shocks when you go to America?

I lived in the United States (specifically in Stephenson, Virginia) as an exchange student from 2018 to 2019 through the KL-YES program. During that experience, I experienced firsthand the culture shock that people often talk about in Uncle Sam’s country.

This is my first time writing on Quora, so I think my writing is still a bit messy and I still need to learn how to structure my words systematically. Please bear with me, Quorans! 👉🏻👈🏻

Moving Class System and Rotating Schedule

Unlike in Indonesia, in America you can choose several elective subjects according to your interests and talents. Also, the teaching and learning activities are divided into two schedules, namely Day 1 and Day 2. Each schedule consists of four subjects. You also have to change classes every time the class period changes, and of course you will have different classmates. What does the schedule mean? So, for example, Monday is Day 1, then Tuesday is Day 2, then Wednesday is Day 1 , and so on. There are only two schedules, unlike Indonesia which has 5-6 different schedules.

2. Dry Toilet

I think almost everyone knows this one. Americans hate wet toilets, so they generally use dry wipes to clean up messes.

3. If you go shopping, go to grocery stores.

Maybe in Indonesia, we can easily shop for snacks at the neighborhood stall or if you want it easier, just GrabFood. Unfortunately, in America, anything you want to buy has to go to grocery stores , like Walmart, Costco, etc. My favorite is Costco, because I like their one dollar pizza + soda refill. And another unique fact, if for example you have bought clothes, then when you get home you don’t like them, you can return the clothes again. As long as you have a receipt, yes.

Later you will get a refund.

4. Hugging Culture

When we meet friends, relatives, or anyone we consider a close friend, the first thing we do is usually hug! It’s a culture I rarely experience in my own country, given the religious rules. Honestly, I really miss this culture. Hugging makes me feel so much better.

5. Traveling Must Be by Car

Public transportation (taxis, Uber, metro) is usually only available in large cities, like Washington DC and New York City. Where I live, I have to drive everywhere. To get to school, I can take the yellow bus back and forth. Are there motorcycles? The answer is yes, but most are large bikes like Harley-Davidsons . Underbone motorcycles—also called scooters—are more common in big cities.

6. Food

The food I often eat with my host family tends to be Italian . For example, ravioli. But I also often eat mac and cheese, salmon, hamburgers, or something as simple as chicken nuggets. Here are some food recommendations. If it’s chicken, try Chick-fil-A or Zaxby’s. Donuts? Krispy Kreme. Hamburgers? Five Guys. Mexican food? Chipotle. Breakfast? iHop. Maybe there are others?

7. Hold the door when someone is behind it

I distinctly remember being reprimanded by my host dad for his indifference in doing this when returning from bowling . In America, it’s considered rude not to hold the door open when someone is behind you, no matter how high your status.

8. On Time

This probably goes without saying. While it may seem like a generalization, punctuality is indeed very high in America. If there’s an event at seven o’clock, they’ll definitely have an estimate of when they need to leave. I once asked my host dad to pick me up , and he’d always say , ” I’ll be at the school in fifteen minutes .” I think this is a rare occurrence in Indonesia.

9. Halloween ,

Thanksgiving, Homecoming celebrations

In fact, there are countless celebrations in America. Some of the most memorable include these three (plus Christmas ). For me, this was a bit of a culture shock , but in a positive way. It was a very interesting experience.

There was still a lot of ‘culture shock’ I experienced while there, but I’ll stop here. Here are some random photos from my time in America.

The view from my room. Beautiful, isn’t it?

Volunteering

activities

with Key Club.

During exams, my school uses barriers like this to prevent cheating. Calculators are allowed.

Hiking in Virginia, I forgot the name details.

NYC!! Ah, maybe it should be Liberty!! The Statue of Liberty is actually on a different island.

Snow is actually similar to shaved ice.

My favorite season is spring . At first, I thought fall was the most beautiful, especially since my birth month is October—the leaves fall this month. But then I turned to spring. It’s so refreshing.

Okay, Quorans. That’s all 👉🏻👈🏻

Pictures

CAN’T BELIEVE I’VE NEVER HEARD THIS KC and the Sunshine Band – That’s The Way (I Like It) | REACTION

OMG!

Between the Waking and the Dream

Written in response to: “Center your story around a character who can’t tell the difference between their dreams and reality.“

Laddii Sky

Bedtime Fantasy Science Fiction

Between the Waking and the DreamMara hadn’t slept in three days.At least, she didn’t think she had.The lines between waking and dreaming had blurred until her mind became a broken clock—ticking, rewinding, skipping entire hours without permission. She would lie in bed, close her eyes, and open them to find herself standing somewhere else entirely. Sometimes in her kitchen. Sometimes on a train she didn’t remember boarding. Sometimes floating, bodiless, through corridors made of fog and light.Her therapist, Dr. Henley, had once called it lucid instability.“You’re self-aware in your dreams,” he said gently, “but your subconscious isn’t letting you wake cleanly. The key is to ground yourself when you wake. Look at something consistent. Count your fingers. Find what’s real.”

But the clocks lied now.

And her fingers multiplied when she counted them.

—

The first time she noticed the split, it had been small. She’d left her coffee on the counter before work, half full. The next morning, she found it again—still half full, still warm, steam curling into the air.

She thought it was funny. Told her friend Daniel about it.

“Maybe I’m living the same day twice,” she’d joked over the phone.

Daniel laughed. “You probably just forgot to drink it.”

But later that night, when she called him again—frightened, whispering that the lights in her apartment were breathing—he said, “Mara… you called me hours ago. You said you couldn’t wake up.”

That was the first time she realized something was wrong.

—

By the end of the week, she started keeping journals.

Every morning, she’d write the date, time, and three facts.

It’s Tuesday.

My name is Mara Winslow.

I live in the real world.

But the handwriting changed between entries. Sometimes her script slanted left, sometimes right. Sometimes she’d flip open the book and find entire paragraphs written in a voice she didn’t recognize.

You keep trying to wake up, one entry said. But you’re already dreaming of doing it.

—

The city outside began to distort. Streetlights flickered in patterns she swore spelled words. Strangers stared too long. The clouds didn’t move—they looped, repeating the same ripple of sunlight over and over.

She stopped answering the phone.

Stopped eating.

Stopped sleeping, though she wasn’t sure that was possible anymore.

Once, she found a note taped to her mirror:

If you’re reading this, it worked. Don’t fall asleep again.

She couldn’t remember writing it.

She wasn’t sure what worked.

—

Dr. Henley called her in for an emergency session.

His office walls were painted a comforting gray, the air still and warm. But the longer she sat, the more the walls seemed to breathe in and out.

“You’re doing well,” he said softly. “You’re beginning to accept both realities.”

“I don’t want both,” she said. “I just want the real one.”

He smiled. “Who says this isn’t it?”

The clock behind him melted, its hands drooping like wax. Mara stood up, backing away. “I need to wake up,” she said.

“You already did,” he whispered.

—

The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital. White walls. Beeping monitors. Tubes in her arms.

A nurse entered, face half hidden behind a surgical mask. “You’re awake, Mara,” she said gently. “You’ve been in a coma for six years. Fell asleep at work. We didn’t think you’d make it.”

Mara wept. “It was all a dream?”

The nurse nodded. “You’re safe now.”

But when she blinked, the nurse was gone. The room was dark. The machines silent.

And from the corner of the room came her own voice:

“You keep waking up in the wrong place.”

—

She woke again—this time, back in her apartment. The same mug. Same counter. Same sun cutting across the window.

The TV was on. A morning anchor smiled brightly at the camera. “Good morning, everyone! Strange solar activity has been causing some reality distortion today. If your electronics seem off, don’t panic—it’s temporary.”

Then he paused. Looked straight at her.

“Mara,” he said. “Wake up.”

The screen went black.

—

Panicking, she ran to the bathroom, gripping the sink. Her reflection looked tired but real. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”

The reflection smiled.

“I know,” it said—and grabbed her hand.

The world folded like paper.

Colors drained away.

She landed in a glass corridor, her reflection on every surface. Each wall reflected a version of herself—some crying, some laughing, some asleep.

In one reflection, she saw Daniel standing beside her body, whispering her name.

In another, she saw Dr. Henley watching through a monitor, taking notes.

In another, she saw herself—eyes open, motionless.

A dozen Maras stared back.

Only one of them blinked.

—

Time dissolved. She walked through mirror after mirror, each one a different world. In one, she was back in the hospital. In another, she was on a quiet beach. In another, she was a child again, staring at the sky and wondering how it could ever look so real.

Sometimes she heard whispers from the glass:

Don’t wake up. It’s worse out there.

You can choose which world you keep.

Maybe you were never meant to leave.

She started to forget which version had started it all.

Maybe all of them were dreaming each other.

—

Then one day—if days still existed—she saw him.

A man standing in the mirror across from her.

“Daniel?” she whispered.

He smiled faintly. “You found me.”

She took a step closer. “Where am I?”

“You’re still asleep. But you can come home if you want. Just reach out.”

He extended his hand.

Warmth radiated through the glass.

Her heart surged with hope.

But then another voice spoke behind her.

Her own.

“Don’t go. That’s not him.”

She turned. Another Mara stood there, identical down to the tear in her sleeve. “It’s another trick. If you go through, you’ll never wake up.”

Mara looked between them—the familiar kindness in Daniel’s eyes, the desperate warning in her twin’s face.

Both were real.

Both weren’t.

She closed her eyes.

—

When she opened them, the world was bright. She was back in the hospital bed. Daniel was beside her, holding her hand, crying.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

Her throat felt dry. “I made it?”

He nodded. “You made it.”

The doctor smiled. “You’re safe now.”

Mara leaned back against the pillow, re

lief washing through her.

Outside the window, sunlight poured across the floor.

Then she noticed the clock on the wall.

Its hands were moving backward.

Hot Dogs for a Crowd

Yield: 145 servings, about 8 quarts sauce

Ingredients

10 pounds ground beef
5 cups chopped onions
2 medium green bell peppers, chopped
1 gallon tomato juice
1/2 gallon tomato paste
2 1/2 cups chopped celery
1/3 cup dried parsley flakes
3 tablespoons salt
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon pepper
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 1/2 teaspoons garlic powder
145 hot dogs and buns

Instructions

In a large kettle, brown beef; drain. Add the next 11 ingredients; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 4 hours, stirring occasionally.
Heat the hot dogs; place in buns and top each with about 1/4 cup sauce.

Recipe Goldmine is now a legacy site. Please visit our sister site, Simply Great Recipes, for new recipes.

Glen Campbell ~ “Wichita Lineman” (1968) Live!

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