Feeling Pensive and Reflective

     It's cold in Morocco! I mean it, it is really cold, as in 34 degrees Fahrenheit cold. This is Africa for crying out loud, the land of leopard skin togas and bare feet, but here I am sitting a foot away from a portable heater while wrapped in thermal leggings and a wool coat! Where can I speak to someone about false advertising???
     All kidding aside, I'm serious about the cold here, and I'm serious when I say I wasn't expecting it. But this got me thinking about some of my other misconceptions about this remarkable country, misconceptions that were my reality until I was blessed enough to partake in this adventure. I am an educated woman, and I was fairly well-traveled before I ever moved here nearly two years ago, but I still had preconceived notions of what it was going to be like, and thankfully most of those have been blown right out of the water.
     I remember interviewing for the teaching job and speaking to the director. I told her that my biggest concern was that I wouldn't be able to be loud. I had it in my mind that all Muslim women behaved and represented themselves in a quiet and subservient manner, and well... I just couldn't take that! She laughed at me, and though she didn't get into specifics, she assured me that I would have no problem with my volume.
     I was also terribly nervous about the fact that my son is left handed. How would he eat? Would they scold him, or kick us all out of restaurants? Would he be ostracized? Now, reading these words, I roll my eyes at my ignorance and my ridiculousness. The fact of the matter is, however, how was I to know?
     As I look on at the problems and issues in the world, it has become completely apparent that they almost always stem from fear of the unknown. I am not the first to make that claim, nor will I be the last, but I see its relevance and truth now more than ever. Luckily, I was not afraid to move to Morocco. Luckily, I was not afraid of what I did not know... nervous, sure, but not afraid. Had I been, I doubt I would have experienced all of the incredible people and places I've been fortunate enough to witness.
     It is my belief that fear often breeds hate and hate almost always breeds pain. There is such pain in the world, and I  know there always has been, but I suppose with technology and media, it is easier to see and feel these days, and I just wish people would choose to learn about what they don't know. I honestly believe that if you truly take the time to learn about something, your fear dissipates and empathy and understanding take its place.
     Here is an example some of you may be able to relate to: I am terrified of math and spiders, and yes, I HATE them both. I have a delightful math teacher as my next door neighbor, and he is a lovely man, but the minute he brings up an algebraic equation, I shut down and glare in horror. As for spiders, I do not think that ANY creature has the right to possess eight of anything, and their mere presence sends me into fits of panic. My son, however, loves them both. He finds math compelling and challenging, and he is intrigued by the ability and strength of my 8-legged foe. He learns about them both in school, and he has an increasing understanding of each, which in turn, brings me to my point... I hate both of those things, because I do not understand them, and that misunderstanding is the cause of my fear.
     Now I realize the world's problems are far more complex than the childish trepidation of an academic subject and disgusting bug, but the philosophy behind it is the same. I know that if I learned a little bit more about those two things, I would understand them better, and though I may not ever LOVE them, I doubt I would hate them as much as I do. I think it is the same thing with people and with the cultures and religions of the world.
     Perhaps this is too simple of a theory, maybe, but I will tell you this... Morocco is nothing like I thought it would be. The women are LOUD and boisterous, and the people couldn't care less if my son eats with his left hand, and they laugh and smile at silly jokes and sarcasm, and we all love a good coffee. There are several things that still don't make sense to me, but at least I understand that the majority of the people I've met are kind, loving, and exceptionally welcoming. I'm so thankful that I did not allow the fear of the unknown to deter me from this gift, and I wish more people would make the choice to set aside fear and allow for humanity to take its place.

Excerpt from The Collection- My Newest Novel

               Sarah’s eyes were closed, but it was easy to see that they were moving violently from underneath their lids. Her breathing was staggered and frantic, and her legs had become completely entangled with the sheets on her bed. Her warm, soft comforter had been kicked to the ground, and Sarah was shivering in response to being fully exposed to the chill in the air. She reached her hand up to her neck and began to gasp, her eyes still shut. Her mouth opened, but there was no sound, just a deafening silence that permeated throughout her room.

                In a last ditch effort of survival, Sarah’s eyes snapped open and she sat up with her hands balled into tight fists. She kicked her legs viciously, trying desperately to free them from their restraints. She could not die this way. She could not allow the shadow to force her into an eternal sleep. She fought and fought, striking her fists into the air, missing her target over and over again, until she could do nothing but peer into the darkness and collapse into tormented tears. She sobbed and pleaded for her life, but the shadow remained vigilant in his oppression, and as the darkness covered her eyes once more, she finally released a scream.

Disturbing News...

   I just read a recent news article about two 12 year old girls who were obsessed with an online character, who in turn was obsessed with murder and death. The two girls then attempted to impress the online character by stabbing their friend 19 times.
   I read suspense and mystery. I am currently writing a mystery novel involving death and murder. I started reading and writing these types of stories, because their content terrified me. Yes, they are intriguing, but I am truly frightened by them as well. Though I know things like this happen all too regularly, in my mind, this is all fiction. But it's not. For so many, this becomes reality. For so many, they are unable to distinguish between truth and lies, between right and wrong.
   The paradoxes in this news story were terrible. The three girls were friends and classmates, yet the attackers had been thoroughly planning this crime since February. They ruthlessly schemed and plotted and finally decided to lure the victim from a sleepover into the woods and stabbed her repeatedly while playing hide and seek. The innocent context juxtaposed with the heinousness of the crime are mind boggling and make it all the more disturbing and inconceivable.
   How does this happen? How does one person succumb to this kind of impulse, let alone two pre-teen girls?  As a parent of two small children, this kind of thing terrifies me, and perhaps not for the reasons you think. It terrifies me, because I think I am a good mother, and I think my husband is an excellent father, and this terrifies me, because despite thinking that, my children are ultimately in control of what they do when they get older. We can lay a moral foundation built on love, trust, kindness and integrity, but they are going to be the ones who choose whether or not to implement that foundation into their lives. Do I think something like this could ever happen to my kids, of course not, never in a million years... just as, I am sure, the parents of those two 12 year old girls could've never imagined it.
    Thankfully and miraculously, the stabbed little girl lived and is in stable condition, but according to reports, one of the punctures was mere millimeters away from piercing her heart. Millimeters. Such a tiny amount of space, such a tiny difference between life and death, and I suppose that is what this story exemplifies, the seemingly miniscule moments we as humans miss on a daily basis. What had those parents missed? What had the victim missed? What had their other friends, family members, and teachers missed? What had those two girls who attempted murder missed? What tiny misstep began this catastrophic sequence of events? I honestly do not know, and even if I did, I do not think it would have made much of a difference, because this real life horror story is something my mind relates only to fiction, to make believe. It is chosen naiveté, and it is a choice I choose to live with for now.
   I'm going to hug and kiss my kids a little extra tonight. I'm going to pray with them and tell them wonderful stories of our faith and play with them and laugh and do my best to strengthen their foundations. I'm going to try to pay closer attention to the tiny things, the little things, but in the end, after all of this... I am going to hope for the best.

Excerpt from my 3rd book... The Cabin...

...The house was not meant to be seen anymore. It had been ignored and neglected for so long, that it had grown accustomed to this state of perpetual being. It did not feel the need to be cared for. It had taken on a life of its own, an independent life that didn’t want to be bothered. The fact that nearly everyone living on the lake had forgotten its existence, was exactly what the house had intended. Because to forget the house had become the same thing as forgetting all that had happened there.

... Just as he left, the window blew open with such ferocity, that it stole Sarah’s breath away. A frigid gust of wind blew the photos out of the box one by one, and within mere seconds it stopped. Sarah looked around the room and stopped short. Each and every picture was lying face up, perfectly still and perfectly angled for her to see. An icy chill penetrated her body, as she realized that death was literally staring her in the face.

 

Thoughts of Mom

   I didn't write this yesterday for Mother's Day. I didn't post my thoughts on FB. I didn't want to. I honestly didn't know what to say.
   I miss my mom.
   Those four words seem so trivial compared to my actual feelings. But I do... I miss her... terribly.
In the moments after her passing three and a half years ago, I remember thinking, "Who am I without my mother?" I meant it. I didn't know. Every single thing I'd ever been through in my life, my mother had been there, both good and bad. Even when we lived in different hemispheres, she was there, and when she left, I was terrified I would fall a part. She was the bravest woman I'd ever known, and I was desperate for her courage to plant itself firmly inside me so I could hold myself together.
   One of my sisters posted a picture of her on FB yesterday, and I found myself staring at it for long periods of time throughout the day. She was so beautiful. It's been said before, and it will be said again, but I can't believe she's gone. It doesn't make any sense. I can still hear her. I can still smell her. I can still feel her hugs and how she fit perfectly right underneath my chin. Her laugh still makes me smile, and her adorable accent is still fresh in my mind. Her heart and its ability to love remain unparalleled. How is she not here?
  My son was only a year and a half when she passed, but he remembers her, and not just from pictures or stories, her memory lives in him. He remembers her laugh, her songs, and how much she loved him. Oh, did she love him. He used to rub her bald head and giggle uncontrollably, and he had the innate ability to make her smile, even at the very end when she found it too difficult to breathe. That was a relationship that death couldn't touch. It is ingrained in him, and I am so thankful for that.
   I was pregnant with my daughter when she died, and it kills me that she'll never know her, but the crazy thing is, I see so much of my mother in my baby girl. When she was born, just 4 months after my mom left to be with God, I thought the resemblance might have just been my longing to see her again, but no. She's there. My daughter has her spirit, her spunk, her forehead... truly... it's the exact same, and when I hold her, I can't help but feel closer to my mother, too.
   Now, after all these years, I know who I am, and I am no longer afraid. I know I am never without my mom. She is my foundation and my rock. She is in my smile, in my tears, in my temper, and in my hope. When I dance, I know she dances in Heaven, and I love her. For who she was, for who she will always be.
  Happy Mother's Day, Mama.
  I miss you!
  
  

Everything You Want to Know About Me... OK, Not Everything, But A Lot!

Yes, this is a "selfie." I'm usually the person taking pictures of everyone else, so this is all I have.    I'm not proud :)

Name: Trisha Hasbrouck

Status: Married with two kids.
       -Both my husband and I are educators... yes, on purpose.
       -My son and daughter are 5 and 3, and they are incredible! My son is a self-proclaimed "beast" and is extremely proud of his abs, while my daughter is a full on "threenager" who will definitely prove my mother right about the fact that I will have a child just like me. Ooopps!

Profession: Both my husband and I are teachers, and I teach high school English and Journalism. We made the insane decision to sell everything we owned and moved from Austin, TX to Fes, Morocco! Yes, the Morocco in Northern Africa! We teach at an American school and have been living quite the adventure since we arrived nearly a year ago.

Fun Facts: I'm the 6th of 7 children, and though my physical appearance may not support this fact, I am equal parts Mexican American and Caucasian. I graduated from UT Austin and studied abroad in Buenos Aires, Argentina while in school. I worked in radio for over 2 years, including a brief stint as an on-air color commentator for a Spanish sports station. I was terrible and managed to get myself kicked off the UT football field during one of the games. I've been viciously attacked by a pigeon in front of hundreds of people... no one came to my aid. I'm still a bit bitter about that.

Contact: Feel free to leave comments on my blog (I'd prefer positive ones if at all possible :) or email me at trishahasbrouck@gmail.com.

Brief Synopsis of UNSEEN.

     After losing her parents at the age of 18, Emily Travis works tirelessly to get her life back on track as a high school teacher. Relying heavily on her independent nature and surrounded by the emotional walls she has constructed over the years, Emily is caught completely off-guard by her ability to love and be loved by Jacob Alexander, a passionate and artistic man.
    Three months before their wedding date, tragedy happens once again, when Emily is struck down by an unseen driver in a vicious hit and run, leaving her fighting for her life. Though Jacob is eager to stand by the woman he loves, Emily pushes him away, knowing that the woman she used to be is no longer.
    Over a year later and confined to a wheelchair, Emily is forced to start her life over yet again.
However, when two women enter their lives, both Emily and Jacob are re-awakened to their forgotten ambitions, desires, and undying love, only to discover that the mysteries behind these women might be filled with even more heartache and loss.

Short Excerpts from THY NEIGHBOR

“There was movement: threatening, deliberate, terrifying. I no longer felt my own body, but I knew I was running. My breathing was sporadic and rushed, but the sound was muffled as if coming from another room. The beating of my heart, however, was deafening and painful, but it was proof that I was still alive.”

“… Rage that had been sleeping for so long began to flow through my veins. The numbness I had perfected after all of these years was slowly beginning to recede and in its place, I could feel the rise of anger, hurt, and intense pain. My head became dizzy and my thoughts were scrambling, as if multiple radio stations were competing for the same frequency. I closed my eyes and fell against a tree in the grassy area between university buildings. I could hear voices and see flashes of images and shadows, but I could not distinguish a single one. In fact, the only thing I could decipher was the severity of my fear. I was breathing heavily, and for a moment I honestly thought I was having a heart attack. I slid down the tree and slumped to the ground with my knees tucked tightly to my chest. The beating of my pulse was excruciating, and I found myself fighting to regain some sort of control over the situation.”