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All the words I wish I could have told you

I got rid of my last photo of you, and I immediately regretted it. I realized that I will never be able to use the photos I took, documenting our love, as a bookmark.

I regretted that on any suspecting afternoon, with the sun gleaming just right twenty years from now, one of those photos will never fall out of an old book in front of my children and they won’t ask about the boy in the picture with curly hair and reddened cheeks.

I regretted it because you are – you were – my first love. And a person only gets one of those in a lifetime.

When I finally left I reacted curt toward you, almost passive or indifferent, because I didn’t want you to know that this was killing me too. Because I wanted to be strong – because the alternative was weak. Because we met un-intentionally and you immediately became forever etched into my soul.

I regretted it because we were damned from the start – because I found happiness in you before I found happiness in myself.

But, the reality is that I didn’t even know that I was looking for someone like you to save me from my misdirection. In fact, all I knew was that I liked the feeling in my stomach when your bright smile landed in my direction. I liked the comfort I felt in your eyes, I liked being desired. And, I liked how the beginning of our love story sprouted as if it were straight out of a Nora Ephron film.

The thing about those movies, however, is that they always ended just before the story actually began and reality set in.

For whatever reason, I thought myself righteous enough to pop our bubble. To be the one who decides that there is something better, grander, more extraordinary beyond the story of us.

So, I let it go. I convinced myself that I needed to get away so that I could start feeling again.

But seared inside my mind, hidden behind my self-proclaimed and glaring passions for the best love story known to man – and my belief that you couldn’t possibly give it to me – are the photos of you that I took in sepia. My hand on your chest. The back of your head against a sunset. Our hands holding one another. A kiss stolen in a gas station parking lot. Your eyes meeting mine with affection from the driver’s seat when we stopped at a red light and I told you to smile.

I regret that I didn’t give us the chance to seize just one more moment together. I regret that I didn’t give us a chance.

I know that you broke my heart in little ways for a long time, but I broke your heart in a big way all at once. One does not cancel out the other.

I loved you unconditionally. You knew it, too, but you lost me. I waited until I had enough and I left.

I realized that it is better to be single and search for myself, then to settle for something I feel insecure in.

Don’t get me wrong though. Our ending wasn’t nearly as tumultuous as I am making it out to be, nor as I would have liked it to be. One second we were, the next we were not. And that was it. We just ended. There was no thunder, no lightening. Nothing.

Even now as I am sorting through what exactly happened, I still can’t help but think that if you loved me the way you said you did you would have treated me the way you said you would.

I wouldn’t have had to beg.

Even when we did eventually try to talk about us, instead of ignoring the elephant in the room with banter or seduction, I’d be speechless. I didn’t know where to start.

But, please don’t mistake my silence for indifference. I do still love you. I always will, except it’s not the same. We spent so much time together and I know that I am saying so little right now to make up for it. I know that this is unbearable, but I promise you that every word I wish to utter to you is in my mind. I just can’t bring myself to speak when you look at me like that. When you draw yourself closer, it is a bribe which I can’t commit to. So please take a step back, I’m so tired of this. I am drained. If I stayed, I would spend a lifetime choking on words I wouldn’t ever dare to say.

I invested in you and I lost myself. I became dependent. And to be honest, this was the last thing I wanted. I spent close to a year relying on someone I didn’t want to rely on – nor could I. I knew it was the end long before you did, and I held on anyways, just in case, because I have a drastic fear of letting go and moving on.

But how can I reconcile breaking your heart and leaving everything we had together in just a few short minutes. You say that I took you by surprise, that you didn’t see it coming – but I don’t know how. I gave you all of the signs. You saw my silent tears. I always knew I wanted more. I was destined for something different. I felt it, deep in my bones, I just never faced it until I was forced to. I was able to ignore my confusion because we laughed with one another. We couldn’t take our hands off one another. We ran home in the pouring rain together, stopping only to kiss.

We experienced the best of one another for a short period of time, and I know that our relationship lasted as long as it was meant to. We loved each other until we couldn’t. We chewed us up and spit us out. We got everything we needed to get out of one another. We fell in and out of love from worlds apart. But I still feel terrible. And I feel like I should be feeling more even though I have been overcome with intense conflicting feelings every day since we said goodbye. Every day for close to a year.

I guess I just want you to know that I didn’t make this decision in haste. I needed to get away in order to understand more of myself.

I regret not thanking you enough for watching me blossom and believing in me so that I could believe in myself. I should have told you just how much you helped me realize the endless bounds of myself, for better or for worse.

I should have thanked you for letting me go, even though it hurt like hell.

I regret doing this to you because you waited for me. Because I gave you dozens of silent chances in my head. Because you would take me back in a second and I am here telling you that I am confused. That I need more time. That is – time to think. Time to learn and explore and dream. But all you hear is that I need to do all of these things away from you, that I need time alone. That I would rather work on building my sense of self alone than by your side.

But I deserve someone who makes me feel alive. Someone who is generous and who makes my heart jump when I tell people that they are mine. And you deserve someone who doesn’t give you an expiration date.

I am scared that maybe I made a mistake, that maybe I am foolish, or maybe that this is all that my love amounts to. I am having trouble accepting the normalcy of the end of us. The lack of explosion.

I am scared that I will forget. I am scared that after a few months everything we had will feel just like a dream. A dream that is open-ended, a dream that will constantly be on repeat in our respective minds until the end of time. Fated to carry each other’s baggage.

I regret that I now have to give you to someone else. That someone else will nuzzle into your chest, and devour your smell. I regret that I gave it all up so easily and have only in hindsight realized the weight of my naivety. Or did I? Because I also remember being so incredibly devastated, and being met with oblivion, with dismissive niceties. I remember my anxieties being belittled or made to feel small. I remember that I didn’t have the means, or the patience, to heal you.

I remember crying on the dance floor a year ago. Turning around so that none of my friends would see. I was staring at your messages. They were curt, broken and hard to make sense of. I remember being confused, I remember when someone told me for the first time that I deserved a love that was better. A love that nurtured. A love I didn’t have to settle for. A love that swept me off my feet.

I regret that we were different together than we were around everyone else. That no one got a real glimpse of us, in love. I regret being so quiet. I regret that I couldn’t love you like you loved me. I regret that you couldn’t love me the way I needed you to. I regret that we’ve run out of things to say.

I regret that our relationship was already broken even when your fingers were strumming through my hair or when we sat across from each other on the floor in a fit of laughter.

I regret knowing it was the end before you did, and holding on anyways just in case. I regret not telling you just how nervous I was and just how serious I was when I said that I thought we lost our spark. Our magic.

I regret it all because I wish that I held on to those pictures for a little while longer. I wish I studied them. Even though I knew the ending wouldn’t change.

Neither of us can fully heal our heartbreak unless we are apart. We have to heal for ourselves, rather than for the possibility that one day down the line we will be together again.

Seeing you that day, when you came by to collect your things, actually helped me realize that I am better off without you. That I am happy now. Really happy. And I no longer doubt myself. I no longer rely on you for happiness. I no longer get angry or sad because you couldn’t make me happy.

In hindsight I had absolutely no idea who I was when I met you. I still really don’t. I’m not even sure that I knew what genuine happiness looked or felt like.

Maybe that’s what ruined us after all. My indifference. My sadness. All of which at the end of the day amounted to nothing.

Soon I will be able to think about you without ripping my heart out.

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Culture Life

Even a pandemic cannot stop hustle culture

It started at the beginning of the year. I had made list upon list about what I wanted to achieve in 2020. Getting my driver’s license, going for a jog EVERY morning and saving enough money to go to Cape Town for my best friend’s graduation ceremony were a few of them. Then the pandemic hit, and things had to change. But instead of simply postponing certain goals, I felt an overbearing urge to replace them with new ones.

The concept of people, both young and old, striving to better themselves, be it academically, physically, professionally, or socially is not a new one. It is very normal for people to want to create a better life for themselves and their families. In the 21st century, however, this ‘want/need’ has become, in many ways, unhealthy. Stress, fatigue and burnout are direct results of ‘hustle culture’- a phenomenon promoting one-dimensional productivity in which people find it admirable to devote as much of their day as possible to “getting things done.”

Social media plays a huge part in all of this. It allows people to broadcast the best of themselves, like getting a promotion, looking picture perfect or reaching a personal goal – a highlight reel that makes their lives seem practically perfect. Even if you aren’t compelled to showcase your achievements, your friends showcasing theirs may lead to a sense of failure on your part. This constant comparison and competition feeds into the propagation of toxic hustle culture and begs the question of whether we really do things because we want to or whether it’s all just for show.

In the wake of COVID-19, hustle culture is more alive than ever.

We are literally in the midst of a global pandemic, yet people are still prioritizing, not only their job, but their side hustle, and even taking on learning new skills. While some may find this to be both doable and commendable no matter the circumstances, there seems to be a more profound collective pressure to do something ‘productive’ during this time. Many have taken on the burden of signing up for extra online classes, learning how to cook gourmet French cuisine and committing to losing those last stubborn  5lbs.

My Instagram feed is currently littered with pandemic-themed posts on how people are using this time to organize their pantry, start weightlifting or get an extra qualification. I constantly see articles suggesting how one can effectively work from home, do a full workout routine indoors, or take up hobbies like knitting or learning a new language to pass the time. Their intentions may be good, it’s no secret that productivity is healthy. However, when the world is in literal chaos, it is okay to do nothing but be okay.

I’m guilty of it too. When I first found out that my source of income as a bartender was being put on hold, I immediately started brainstorming ways I could fill that time. I had around 30 webpages regarding different online courses or transcribing jobs bookmarked for me to browse through when I felt like taking on a new project. I realized, however, that (as a tutor, full-time student, and now an editorial fellow) taking on more is not only irresponsible, its also a betrayal to myself.

As much as learning new things and stepping up your exercise game may be of help to your state of mind, simply remaining calm and resisting the urge to “do more” may be equally (if not more) beneficial. Though exhaustion has become a status symbol of sorts, your self-care should take precedence over ticking something off a to-do list. This is a pandemic, not a productivity contest. 

Comics Pop Culture

I used to love reading Archie comics as a kid, until I recognized the harm they’re doing

I used to be a huge Archie Comics fan. I got it from my dad, who grew up reading a whole lot of comics about the Riverdale gang. There was a whole bunch of comics that he passed down to me and I devoured them. I read a lot of the content and didn’t think twice about much of it. Now though, I don’t read Archie Comics much anymore. The material feels dated to me.

The jokes in these comics are largely predictable. I’ve read Archie Comics dating back decades, thanks to my dad’s extensive collection. The sense of humor is by and large the same now as it was 50 years ago.

But something else has started bothering me in recent years. There seems to be a pattern of chauvinistic, sexist, toxic masculinity in them that’s being written off as funny. And I don’t know how that is still okay.

Some of the themes of Archie Comics leave me wanting to throw them out the window. Now I know this is a stronger reaction than a funny children’s comic is supposed to warrant, but I can’t believe these stories are still being written. Here are some of the themes that really need to stop:

1. Betty’s desperation to win Archie’s affection 

image description: A comic strip showing Betty repairing Archie's car while he asks her to hurry so Veronica isn't kept waiting
[Image description: A comic strip showing Betty repairing Archie’s car while he asks her to hurry so Veronica isn’t kept waiting.] Via Archie Comics
Something a lot of Betty’s stories revolve around is being a doormat for Archie. She’ll basically do anything it takes to get his attention. Fixing his car, helping him with homework, cooking for him, and helping him in any other way she possibly could, only to be casually thanked and then left behind for Veronica. And in the stories where Archie comes back to her in the end, it’s usually because Veronica rejected him. The only thing consistent is that she is never his first choice. And yet story after story we keep seeing her chasing after him.

2. Betty and Veronica are best friends, until Archie comes along

image description: a comic strip
[Image description: A comic strip of Betty and Veronica fighting over Archie.] Via Betty and Veronica Digest
The competition between Betty and Veronica goes completely against the idea of them being best friends. There are stories where they are shown to be doing great things for each other, and then others where Veronica is being catty and putting Betty down and they’re having fights over Archie. And these are best friends? You can’t portray girls acting like this anymore. And there are often stories that will end with them declaring that no matter what either of them achieves, winning Archie’s affection is the only “real prize” that matters.

image description: a comic strip from an Archie comic
[Image description: A comic strip about Miss Riverdale.] Via Archie Comics
image description: Archie comic strip
[Image description: Archie comic strip about girls competing for boys] Via Archie Comics
image description: a strip from Archie comics
[Image description: A strip from Archie comics about boys being more important than prizes.] Via Archie Comics

3. Archie lets two girls openly fight over him while still dating other girls

image description: a page from an Archie comic
[Image description: Archie being an asshole to Betty.] Via Archie Comics Digest
This main character is an open playboy. He knows that there are two girls who are best friends that are constantly fighting for him; he lets it happen without trying to stop it and still goes around drooling over any girl he can and dating anyone that would date him. And yet he is still supposed to be the adorable nice guy.

4. There are often sexist comments and these are sometimes the whole punchline

image description: A panel from an Archie comic
[Image description: A misogynist panel from an Archie comic.] Via Archie Comics
There are some constantly recurring themes in the comic that irritate me to no end: the toxic masculinity, the misogyny and the plain disrespect. Themes that clearly the writers have been carrying forward since the beginning of the comics and even now, in this day and age, don’t make any attempt to renew or change.

The male characters very often make sexist comments about girls, often insulting women who don’t look like Barbie dolls, and hold old-fashioned gender stereotypes and ideas. The story will rarely do anything to change this.

I honestly don’t see how this comic book series is still going and who is letting this go unchecked. This is a pretty famous series. They should use fame to educate, not insult. I promise you that your current readers are going to appreciate it, because I for one do not want to keep picking up comic books that I used to love and keep getting offended by sexist punchlines and chauvinistic attitudes that would do better to be left behind in the 40’s.

image description: comic strip from Archie comics
[Image description: A comic strip about girls not rooting for other girls.] Via Archie Comics Digest
Comic books, especially iconic ones, need to do better. Spread healthy ideas about friendships and relationships. In this day and age they still write about fighting over boys, letting a guy use you or valuing a guy more than your friend, and continue to draw girls with one body type unless they’re being made fun of or being shown as unattractive.

image description: a comic strip showing Archie and a friend making fun of ugly girls
[Image description: A comic strip showing Archie and a friend making fun of ugly girls.] Via Archie Comics
A lot of their readers are teenagers and if you portray teenagers behaving this way without any hesitation, you will either raise a readership that grows up thinking these toxic behaviors are how things are supposed to be, or male chauvinists who chuckle at these jokes wishing that’s how things were.

Or in my case, you’ll lose faithful readers altogether.


Women constantly have to hide their achievements from their fragile husbands. I’m sick of it.

I recently came across a video on Twitter that left me and so many other women shook.

A group of female Arab talk show hosts discussed the responsibilities of a successful woman to her family. Having to discuss this in the first place is already ridiculous since men’s successes rarely come with a list of conditions.

One of the women on the show pointed out that a successful woman must remain humble in front of her husband so that he never feels threatened by her success. According to her, a woman shouldn’t gloat of her achievements, because it will belittle her husband. Instead, a woman must make her husband feel powerful by showing him how inferior she is.

Yes, I didn’t know I could roll my eyes that far back either.

I couldn’t believe what she was saying, and the fact that some of the other female hosts were agreeing with her!

[bctt tweet=”In a world where the odds are already stacked up against women, we need partners who will be by our side no matter what. ” username=”wearethetempest”]

In a world where the odds are already stacked up against women, we need partners who will be by our side no matter what. I don’t want to have to live my life constantly afraid of outshining my husband. I want someone who is going to encourage me to aspire to greatness and someone who is going to be proud to be with me.

Why do we tell women that men’s achievements must be celebrated and praised, but they can never be proud of themselves?

Why do we teach men that it’s okay to feel emasculated by your wife’s success?

This is how we end up raising men who become violent and lash out at their significant others when they feel that their power is being stripped away. In turn, we end up raising women who feel like they must constantly cater to men’s egos.

[bctt tweet=”Why do we teach men that it’s okay to feel emasculated by your wife’s success? ” username=”wearethetempest”]

Some men are raised to believe that their masculinity is dependent on how much power they exert over others, especially the women in their lives.

That is where toxic masculinity comes into play.

When we raise men to think this way, they’ll end up feeling like less of a real man whenever a woman in their life does something that exercises her power. This idea is often so ingrained in some men’s heads that they don’t see a problem with resorting to violence to keep their masculinity intact.

[bctt tweet=”This idea is often so ingrained in some men’s heads that they don’t see a problem with resorting to violence to keep their masculinity intact. ” username=”wearethetempest”]

The TV hosts themselves were probably raised to think that they must always be wary of overpowering their husbands. But instead of realizing how toxic that can be, they’re preaching to other women to behave the same way!

Marriage is a partnership where two people lift each other up and support one another. I don’t want to feel like I must choose between living my life authentically and having a happy marriage.

We have to stop telling women to leave their accomplishments by the door every time they go home.

Love Wellness

I find life in juicy Facebook groups, even when my life is falling apart

I don’t typically rely on technology, or the internet, to boost my mood into positive states. I’m not drawn to pop culture in a way where I need to absorb everyone’s gossip and news.

In fact, I find much of my Facebook feed draining, negative, and filled with political opinions that have brought me to tears.

The New York Times’ article, “Attached to Technology and Paying a Price” details the ways in which we are rewired to be addicted to our devices. Scientists have found that technology provokes excitement and plays a role in how we respond to opportunities or incoming information.

However, even in darkness, there is a glimmer of light.

While I don’t necessarily rely on my notifications for happiness, I do find online community valuable for my emotional health. Somewhere in the shards of Facebook’s broken ethics and ridiculous rules are private groups that include empowerment, nudes, and all-encompassing beauty.

Digital networking is a large part of my job and as a writer, I need to share my work through social media to connect with people on a base level. Twitter has a great community of writers, Facebook has my IRL friends, and Instagram is still a sleek way to share any upcoming projects. What’s more is that these platforms connect me to people who I would never know otherwise or friends who have lost touch with my professional life.

For the majority of the time, I use social media as a way to expand my readership.

But, let’s step back a moment, shall we?

In the mid-2000s, I was an avid Xanga user. I blogged and detailed my life in an overly saturated and romantic light.  The comment section was where my community lived. We applauded one another’s work, offered advice, and belonged to groups titled, “The Strokes Fan Club.” Those were my first internet buddies — my first ties to people who introduced me to feminism, punk rock, and Anais Nin.

Present day Xanga, for me, are my private Facebook groups.

Many of them were originally a nuisance or died out quickly. I would accept invites to groups but would never click on the notification. But after refining my invites and adjusting what my peak interests were, I have found a solid community on a generic social media platform — something that I did not expect.

I am a member of many, many writing Facebook groups.

They serve as space where writers and editors can post new job opportunities and calls for pitches. In the comment section, we discuss rates, experience, and how the writing job played out for other freelancers. It’s a community that’s vast, competitive, but still supportive. I owe several of my current freelancing gigs so these specific Facebook groups.

I was originally invited by an editor at Vagabond City Lit, where I am the Arts Editor. Connections, networking, and online friendships infiltrate my profession as a writer and editor, and luckily, it’s a very complementary area of work. Through word of mouth, I entered this rather expansive online community, and have found a plethora of writing gigs and editor information for future pitches and ideas.

The real juicy, awe-inspiring, outrageously empowering groups are my sexual health and sex-related groups.

One, an ode to living out your best hoe summer, and another, a more serious look at vaginismus, discuss all things sexual.

The vaginismus group I am affiliated with is more somber, as many individuals in the group are unable to have PIV intercourse due to an involuntary muscle spasm. However, when one of us does have successful intercourse, we gush and spill and detail our saga to a community who doesn’t judge or criticize. I first began writing about vaginismus after seeing an absence of information on health and women’s websites.

Struggling for seven years, I was fed up.

After I began writing about the taboo, and often embarrassing topic, my email inbox was flooded with women reaching out to me about similar issues.

Eventually, I made a connection with another writer who invited me into the vaginismus group to give my personal insight into my own personal experience. Since vaginismus is an ignored and often misunderstood diagnosis, the group is vital for many of us members. Just knowing that we aren’t alone and suffering in silence is pertinent to our emotional and mental well-being.

Another group where I am the most active is a sexual summer group that encourages stories, thoughts, photos, and accepts all genders, identities, and preferences. This group has been monumental in my overall love for myself, my friends, and sexual liberation.

I first heard about this group from a friend who decided that I “needed to be in it.”

It may sound simple enough, but the voices within this group are overwhelmingly encouraging, leading me to a new understanding of optimism, kinks, and affirmation. Living in a big city, like Chicago, we have many venues that support body positivity and reinforce safe spaces.

However, the place where I’ve felt the safest is this particular Facebook group.

Many people in the group are strangers, some are not.

My friends and I share sexy images of ourselves, videos, GIFs — anything that we find appealing for ourselves without the heteronormative male gaze. Sharing nude images on a platform that exists online is exhilarating. Advice, sexual risks, and stories of embarrassment also fill the feed.

Vulnerability is valued within the online space — it’s incredible to see the encouragement that strangers give one another and the connections that are made.

The summer-fling sex Facebook group has become a permanent group.

Moreover, the founder of the community started a website affiliated and inspired by the stories told on the Facebook thread. I go to events around the city, see someone I recognize from the group, and introduce myself as someone “from the hoe Facebook group.” It’s become a bond and immediate friendship between virtual strangers.

Fellow Tempest writer, Alicia Soller explained in their article that they wanted to “stay informed and connected,” but to do so they needed technology. While disconnecting has its time and place, my Facebook groups have so positively enhanced my well-being, in terms of myself and my relationships, that I can’t imagine completely abandoning them at this point in my life.

While these groups are fleeting and impermanent, they are shaping me into a more confident and vocal lover, friend, and overall better person.

These groups are not substituting my real life friendships and connections. They are simply empowering me to converse with confidence. Moreover, social media in today’s climate can be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing. These Facebook groups are the reason I log on to the social media platform.

Everyone else’s statuses are noise until I receive a notification from a thoughtful, interesting, and impactful text or image within my private groups.

My advice? Seek out those online communities.

Find your people, find your voice, share a nude or two, and carry on.

Science Now + Beyond

Here’s why it’s terrifying that bees are dying out

I have three boxes of bees in my bedroom.

That sounded weirder than I meant it to, let me rephrase: My grandfather was an entomologist who specialized in bees and pollination. He collected different species to study their anatomy and occasionally even discovered a new species of his own.

When he passed away four years ago, he left behind boxes upon boxes of bees, meticulously labeled and carefully studied. Because I’m sentimental (and have a huge soft spot for bees), I kept a few of the boxes as a memory of him and of how incredibly important bees are to our world.

Naturally, when I heard the news this week that seven bee species in Hawaii have been added to the endangered species list (the first time bees have made the list), I was devastated.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service updated its endangered species list this month and added seven species of Hawaiian yellow-faced bees. According to the Xerces Society, these species are “the first bees in the country to be protected under the Endangered Species Act.” The Xerces Society advocated for the Hawaiian bees to join the endangered species list, but communications director Matthew Shepherd wrote that “there is much work that needs to be done to ensure that Hawaii’s bees thrive.”

The news from Hawaii is sobering: bees are in danger all across the world, not solely in the Pacific Islands. Habitat destruction, nonnative plant species, natural disasters, nonnative predators, pollution, and pesticides are all reeking havoc on the bee population. As the United Nations announced in February, “about 40 percent of invertebrate pollinator species (such as bees and butterflies) are facing extinction.”

That’s bad news.

See, the thing is that of all the plants in the world, about 75% of those that we eat depend on pollination. No bees, no food.

One of the first memories I have of spending time with my grandfather was hiking out in the middle of nowhere to check his bee traps. He and my grandmother developed a system of making straw-filled traps that resembled bee hives, so that they could capture local bees and study different regions’ ecosystems. It didn’t take much scientific knowledge to piece together his employment for the US Department of Agriculture and his interest in bee health to figure out that bees were vital for crops.

We’ve known that bees were in trouble since 2006 and 2007 (and honestly, probably even earlier). And we’ve known that bees were important to agriculture since before the dawn of time. Yet we’ve been incredibly slow to take action to save the bees.

One can only hope that the news that bees have joined the endangered species list will motivate people to action. (Though if we’re going to look at bad news motivating people, we might be out of luck, a la global warming.) I’m honestly not all that hopeful. Call me a cynic, but I haven’t seen people called to action by melting ice caps or rising CO2 levels. And if that can’t motivate people, I don’t know what will.

Our world is facing massive climate changes that will destroy our environments, agriculture, and species if we don’t act fast. The yellow-faced bees in Hawaii are lucky to be joining the endangered species list and not the extinction list (change has come too late for many). Since I can’t put my faith in world governments or pesticide companies, let me put my faith in you.

If you think the bees are, quite literally, the bees knees, then try following some of these easy tips to keep bees from going extinct.

Buy more honey (especially locally produced varieties, yum!), plant more flowers (especially in urban areas), support your local beekeepers, and speak up if your town or city is considering policies that effect pollinators. You won’t just be saving them, but us as well.