I’m waiting in the cafeteria for my meeting to start in an hour, and there’s a father talking to his son about science experiments and physics over cups of coffee. Even though I dont completely agree with the father, I think it is so cool that he is sitting down and bonding over science. I wish my parents did that with me.

When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.

Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”

When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.

Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”

I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.

She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”

“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”

He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”

Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”

When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”

Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”

Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.

He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.

Here is a fact: I think gender is a social construct and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and am the same gender as my sex, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.

Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.

One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.

I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”

Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.

It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.

It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.

It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.

There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.

I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.

By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via remusjohnmoonylupin)

(Source: gym-fit, via wanderingdesi)

shiki-sarreau:

fetus-teeth:

jethroq:

nikkisshadetree:

duchessofdeviance:

reinedeboheme:

blicky417:

Now HE is a role-model

A leader is best when people barely know he exists, when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: we did it ourselves.

they criticize him because they aren’t brave enough to emulate him.

Wow, this is awesome!

So, you know, you mention the Tupamaros as a “robin hood organization” and don’t mention that they were a Marxist group, because that word is scary to liberals.

And the post kinda glosses over that the country was at the time, under a military Junta.

Jose Mujica is so much better than this photoset

Re-reblogging for the above.

Real leadership, comrades.

Wow…

(Source: dumbbabysounds, via signedconfessions)

pacific-pale:

se-ren-d-ipi-ty:

lacigreen:

snarkenstone:

On the left we have the lyrics from Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines. On the right we rape survivors participating in Project Unbreakable, showing the various things that were said to them by their rapist.

From the Mouths of Rapist: The Lyrics to Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines

i think this is the most powerful photoset i’ve ever seen on tumblr.

Reblogging until you understand why this song is so vile

People need to educate themselves before they start saying “well it’s catchy”or “it’s freedom of speech”

(via stories-yet-to-be-written)

naruto-uzumagay:

tore-ge-uchiha:

naruto-uzumagay:

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW BAD IT HURTS TO LOVE A FICTIONAL CHARACTER

REALLY LOVE THEM. YOU FEEL FOR THEM AND HOLD EMPATHY AND WANT TO MAKE THEM FEEL BETTER AND JUST WANT TO BE THERE FOR THEM

BUT YOU CAN’T BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT REAL

Do you need a hug?

YES I NEED A HUG I AM EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO FAKE PEOPLE

(via trulyhopelessromantic)

ellendegeneres:

It’s flu season again and we all know what that means. Andy gets to enjoy another flu shot!

Andy inspired me to go get my flu shot….just kidding, I need to get it for work.

inside-of-the-asylum:

ziddity:

sageruto:

rabbitsnwolves:

Well, he was sorta asking for it, dressing in such flammable clothing.

if he didnt want to get set on fire, he should have stayed indoors

He must have been drinking alcohol. That stuff is flammable. Of course it was going to happen when booze was involved.

I bet he acted like he wanted to be set on fire. I mean can you blame someone for doing it if he was acting like that? Boys will be boys…

Reposting for awesome comments

(Source: royalpunani, via juststickwiththedrumroll)

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open… No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.

Martha Graham (via foreverportia)

(Source: degeneres-derossi)

fitnessinwonderland:

oliviatheelf:

lizywkim:

starryeyedlunatic:

fucksociety95:

this picture should have more then the amounts of notes it has, this shows us that not ever thing is “picture perfect” and that behind that smile and those eyes there is fear . So i beg you to please reblog this instead of a pair of shoes, someone smoking a blunt, and clothes … because this picture is literally worth 1,000 words 

This is insanely powerful.

As someone who grew up in an abusive household, I will never fucking fail to reblog this. People pull bullshit all the time over people getting abused. They make it to where it’s covered up, the victim’s fault, or they don’t care about it. This is happening RIGHT NOW and could be happening to your own neighbor, mother, sister, brother, grandparents, teachers, mail-deliverer. Anyone.  IT is a nightmare. 

And don’t forget that it isn’t always physical or visible.

(Source: awayfromearth, via signedconfessions)