Tumblr Is Just Mentally Ill People Quoting Dead Mentally Ill People.

and for my next trick i will now demonstrate just how many fucked up things a girl can have wrong with her at once!!

mutuals i’d ominously stare at in a foggy gothic cemetery

When Jaun Elia said Yeh mujhe chein kyu nahi parta, ek hi shakhs tha jahan mei kya?

When Hali said Aalam mein tujh se laakh sahi tu magar kahan

And when Nasir Kazmi wrote Meri sari umar mei ek hi kami hai, tu

They really said the truth because some people are Irreplaceable..

me looking at the person i like: i am enamored even with the way your fingers move, with the way the light plays on your skin, with your freckles and your smile and your laughter, with your voice, with how you get around the things you love, with your humor,  me aloud: what’s up asshole

Love, On Its Way Out.

Two Week Notice, Leanna Firestone | Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines, Pablo Neruda | Conversations Over Sanguinaccio Dolce, I.B. Vyache | Seaside Improvisation, Richard Siken | I never went to that movie at 12:45, Dolly Lemk | In a Dream You Saw a Way To Survive, Clementine von Radics | Quote by Kate McGahan | Pillow Thoughts, Courtney Peppernell | Bluets, Maggie Nelson

(This isn't prompted by my real life so much as it is my love for that first song and also. blorbos.)

—the male gaze

the robber bride by margaret atwood // the virgin suicides (1999) // at test of objectification theory: the effect of the male gaze on appearance concerns in college women by rachel m. calogero // ex machina (2015) // a woman’s beauty by susan sontag // lolita (1997) // shame is an ocean, swim across by mary lambert // fleabag // fleabag: the scriptures by phoebe waller-bridge

Eldest daughter

“Your double chin is showing”

That has reached my ears while I was dealing with my clothes in a bathroom. It’s not that I am easily triggered, I am truly not though each word coming out of my mom’s mouth is like a bullet.

“I don’t mean it as a compliment, nor as an insult. It’s just what it is”

I only have one thought in my mind - backhanded. My mom is just like any other ethnic mom says what she wants because for the first time in her life she has an authority over someone. She finally gets to be the boss and find a scapegoat. Motherhood is the only space for women from traditionals and ethnic households to seek control and people who would finally listen to each of their bitchy words. Even if it means that your children, particularly your daughters, would be those people.

And such phrases come out so randomly, I frequently try to get inside her mind and comprehend what drives her sudden urges to put some salt onto my wounds.

And I truly am trying to become the mom from 11th episode of “How to get away with murder” and gravitate towards forgiveness. I truly do.

But this same womb that carried me will eventually become the cell.

Oh to be able to heal your ethnic mom, to become her, to sink into her and be one big piece like we once were. Yet I am aware of the fact that the more I sympathize the more I idealize her, and her “double chin” comments.  

But perhaps this is faith. The faith of an eldest daughter in an ethnic family. The faith that is full of generational curses and traumas that I will cut off.

I love my mom and this is why I will never be like her.

quiver lover