in

twloha:

The image above is from the 2006 Oscars. These were the five nominees for Best Actor. We are without two of them tonight. Heath Ledger died in 2008 and Phillip Seymour Hoffman died today, both brilliant artists gone too soon, both fathers and sons and brothers and friends, both lives taken by drug overdoses. If you want to look closer, Joaquin Phoenix lost his brother River to a drug overdose in 1993. Beyond that, Joaquin was nominated for his role in Walk the Line. He played Johnny Cash, the musical legend who, in real life, struggled for many years with drug addiction. 

These famous names represent millions less known, millions of stories cut short, families with so much forever missing. Children shouldn’t grow up without parents and parents shouldn’t have to bury their children. 

This is what i’ve come to believe: There is much at stake. There are lives in the balance and ripples that push on for decades. Addiction is an awful beast to beat. It’s never easy and it’s never over and it will be a fight renewed each morning. But it’s possible. i think of my uncle and my buddy Denny and so many people i’ve met on the road over the last eight years. Their lives are undeniable evidence that it’s possible to change, that it’s worth it to try and to keep trying, worth it to fight and keep fighting. Because this life is worth living. Because you are loved and made to be loved and made to give love and to experience a thousand wonderful things.

We’re all in this together. It’s okay to be honest. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to say you’re stuck, or that you’re haunted or that you can’t begin to let go. We can all relate to those things. Screw the stigma that says otherwise. Break the silence and break the cycle, for you are more than just your pain. You are not alone. And people need other people. 

in ,

There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.

John Green, The Fault in Our Stars (via observando)
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A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.

Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)

When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.

Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.

Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.

Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.

Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.

‘My Perfume Doubles As Mace,’ theappleppielifestyle. (via queenofeden)

Take A Risk

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A few weeks ago I had an extremely difficult conversation. One I've been anticipating for about 8 years. Yet, through the many physical and emotional obstacles experienced during the few hours the conversation lasted, I managed to get all my points across. Days after the conversation, The Great Debaters mantra came to mind.

 

Henry Lowe: Who is the judge? James Farmer Jr.: The judge is God. Henry Lowe: And why is he God? James Farmer Jr.: Because, he decides who wins or loses, not my opponent. Henry Lowe: And who is your opponent? James Farmer Jr.: He doesn't exist. Henry Lowe: And why doesn't he exist? James Farmer Jr.: Because, he is a dissenting voice to the truth I speak.

I may have unknowingly internalized that concept, because I initiated the conversation without fear, despite having much reason for it. I was well aware of how ugly it could get, considering how ugly it got the last time I tried to have it. Yet, this time things were different. I was 100% sure I was speaking the truth, I knew I was standing up for something important.

After much rumination over the details exchanged, my mind started to wander and focus on the future. I began to wonder where I will be in 20 years if I live my life like I did that one moment. Determined to publicize the truth, free of fear, and prepared to fight if it came to it. It got messy but everything that needed to be said was said, and despite the tears blurring my vision, and the milliseconds spent gasping for air mid-cry, I was able to say what I needed to say, clear enough to be  understood. I took a huge risk, and things turned out alright.

I should have taken that risk a long time ago.

I'll Win The War

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I constantly feel like I'm in a battle. A battle for my most basic rights, and those of the people around me. Often times when I hear stories of relationship problems, or the bad decisions women make concerning men I'm quick to respond. Almost immediately I'm enraged, disgusted, and ready to deliver a passionate speech about women's rights and self worth. I forget to have compassion for what these women are feeling, and for the past struggles they've endured, that for them rationalizes their current state. I forget the first step I should ever take should be a step back, to gain perspective and understanding. I am no veteran in the field of relationships, not even close. In fact I'm guilty of committing quite a few mistakes myself. But I've had plenty of examples of what a healthy relationship is not, and I've learned from them. I've been exposed to men who have a deep seeded belief that women are inferior to them. That women have certain household responsibilities that must be taken care of at all times, even if their dreams have to take a back seat, even if they work full time and put in just as much, if not more money into building a life for their family.

I grew up believing my role as a female is to play host when my parents are entertaining guests. I was supposed to help clean the house, serve drinks, put coats in the bedroom...my brother wasn't told to do the same, at least not to the same extent. When my dad came home from work, I served him a plate of food, rice on one end, beans off to the side (never on top of the rice) and the meat on the remaining side. I also had to give him a cold beverage of his choice, with a napkin of course. When he was done I took everything the to the kitchen. I'm surprised I wasn't asked to feed it to him. It took a few years for me to start saying no. But not much has changed, the behavior has been tweaked but the belief is still the same. Men don't do, and aren't supposed to do the dirty work.

Last time I strongly and loudly expressed my disgust for that belief I was 14 years old. I held nothing back, you see I have my father's temper. I got smacked across the face so hard my glasses hit the ground several feet away. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't the crazy one, I wasn't the irrational one. My ideas and beliefs were founded on a very simple concept, that of self worth.

Since then my actions have been more subtle and unfortunately more sympathetic. That has been my biggest mistake. And seeing the women I love, both family and friends, being manipulated into doing certain things to avoid the arguing, the yelling, the nonsense has made that very clear. See, I try to keep the peace, I see the stress the women around me are drowning in, and I don't want to make things worse. I don't want to rock the boat, instead I want to mediate all problems, I want to distract. However, that doesn't, and hasn't solved the problem. I run around trying to get people to understand our actions are enabling the bad behavior we hate so much. A close friend of mine told me people don't change without consequences for their actions. So I've made it a point to be very clear about what I dislike, and what I won't stand for.

I probably won't win the battle at home, at least not in the entirety that I dream of. However, the inequality will stop with me. I will not be taken advantage of, and if I ever have daughters I'll make sure to teach them there's a higher standard they ought to live up to. People ought to be appreciated for their hard work, they ought to be thanked for all they do. There's nothing wrong with choosing your battles for the greater good, or with tolerating things here and there. But there's a limit. Being strong doesn't have to mean putting aside your self-worth.

 

 

 

Resting in Paradise

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As I lay in the clear blue waters, I listen to the hum of the breeze, the palm trees brushing against each other, and the bass of a salsa classic in the background. I gaze at the palm trees above me, as they cut into twilight. Small waves tickle my ears and mute the sound of glasses clinking, of the drunk laughter of those who forgot their hardships, and have stalled the search for the remedies.

The Vampire Diaries & Love

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For the past two weeks I've been watching seasons 1 through 4 of The Vampire Diaries. I've been trying to catch up before the second half of season 5 airs. In the finale of season 4 (spoiler alert) Elena confessed her love for Damon, she said: "Fine, then I’m not sorry either. I’m not sorry that I met you. I’m not sorry that knowing you has made me question everything, that in death you’re the one that made me feel most alive. You’ve been a terrible person, you’ve made all the wrong choices, and of all the choices that I’ve made this will prove to be the worst one. But I am not sorry that I’m in love with you. I love you, Damon. I love y…."

As I watched this scene I couldn't help but think, that kind of love is toxic and unhealthy. Yet, there was something alluring about it, it was passionate. It made me think, maybe an all-consuming passion is what makes love true, makes it real. After all someone could have all the traits you've been looking for but be missing that special something that makes it all *click*.

I've experienced that kind of obsession. Every action, every moment, every thought was manufactured around one person. Every decision I made somehow included him. And regardless of being shut down continuously, I still kept going. In fact, the rejection was my fuel. I kept thinking, if I just change this one thing, if I do this just a bit differently I'll catch his attention, and the chemistry will magically appear. And it took a pretty serious event, on both occasions, to snap me out of it. To make me realize that wasn't me, that mentality wasn't healthy. I would have done, or overlooked, quite a lot to get the reciprocation I was looking for. But I knew if the roles were reversed, if a friend was behaving like me I'd be furious. I'd tell her to stop wasting her time. No relationship should be this one sided. So again I ask, is that all-consuming passion the special ingredient that makes love true? Because if it is I don't want it.

Love shouldn't be based on how strongly you hold on to someone who keeps pushing you away, or keeps enabling your bad behavior. It shouldn't be a roller coaster of self inflicted lows and empty highs. Life has enough surprises, shouldn't the person you choose to stand by your side, BE on your side?

A Life About [FILL IN THE BLANK]

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I spent the afternoon of New Year's Eve in a movie theater watching The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. The concept of day dreaming peaked my interest. Often I spend my day replaying situations in my head, usually altering my actions in the hopes of producing a better outcome. An outcome I'm more tolerable of, or comfortable with. If I'm not day dreaming I'm organizing, constantly making lists, writing myself notes, creating calendar events on my Gmail account. It all comes together in a big strategy for distraction. I don't distract myself purposefully, in fact I usually see it as a method to move forward, when in reality I'm just maintaining the status quo. At times I believe the best way to get out of my routine is to do something spectacular, out of character, and to do it suddenly. However, after watching this movie I'm toying with the idea that maybe my exit strategy doesn't have to be so drastic. Maybe I just need to live with purpose. What ever I decide to do, I should do it because I want to, because it serves a purpose, not because it will make a good story. Why travel the world if all it means to you is a check mark on a to do list?

So that's what 2014 will be about, my journey to purpose.

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paradiseasha:

thestriversrow:

#striving

progressivefriends:

sancophaleague:

We should know by know the  Media doesn’t want to show us positive black stories so we do our best at SanCopha League To share as many as possible. Meet Stephen R. Stafford.

“At just 16 years old, Stephen R. Stafford II has accomplished more than most of the general population.

He is currently earning credits toward his triple major at Morehouse College —pre-med, mathematics and computer science.

The genius has yet another achievement to add to his list. He made “The World’s 50 Smartest Teenagers.”

Stephen started at Morehouse College at 11 years of age because his mother, who was homeschooling him, could not keep up with his potential. The college student is also a talented classical pianist; he began to play the piano at the age of two. When asked about his exceptional abilities, the teen replies: “I’m just like any other kid. I just learn very, very quickly.”

Georgia law requires a student to be 16 before they can graduate from high school. Because of this, Stephen will receive his college degrees just one year after he graduates high school. His plans are to attended Morehouse School of Medicine, where he is expected to graduate from the school at 22.”

Source: (http://www.blackyouthproject.com)

Post Made By @Solar_InnerG

#Sancophaleague #Blackexcellence #BlackChildren

in

I’m afraid
of what i will write
if you mend me.
If I start believing
all the nice things
your mouth empties
onto my skin.
What poems
will spill out of a body
filled to the breath
with you.
How can i
remember anything
about wars
or women
when moments with you
are full
and ripe?
hours entirely swallowed
watching your mouth move?
even this poem
is about your voice
and the cities it leaves trembling
inside my stomach.
What will be of poetry
if now,
watching you sleep
is the closest i
ever come
to dying?

Warsan Shire, Day 22 (via llvnos)

All of this.

(via thethreeamrants)

in

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kaitmint:

fabulouslymemzb:

Victorian Women Of Color - These  Photographs Were Taken During The Victorian Era, Mainly From The Years Of 1860-1901.

“Photos of Women of Color from this era are hard to come by, especially “family” photographs. Sadly these beautiful and touching images go unnamed. A couple of these photos were taken when there was still slavery in the United States. We are honored to present these images as part of our dedication to the photographic history of our country". - Don Noyes-More Ph.D.,Editor in Chief.

Where are these from?! I’d love to use more as research for costumes!