College Students. This Site Is So Sexy For Notes Btw

He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

there is something so darkly comical about tumblr potentially outliving twitter

tumblr, which is held together with duct tape and madness, run by three raccoons in blood stained Yahoo! hats and a handful of crabs, its only discernible source of income the sale of shoelaces from an inside joke so inside no one knows the original source anymore and fake blue checkmarks... that website still lives on

truly the cockroach of social media and I love it for that

Reblog this if you're the eldest daughter who had to mature at a really young age, were always seen as the 'quiet and unproblematic' one, were the overachiever of the family, were the so-called 'perfect child', so now you're literally terrified of doing anything wrong because you don't want to ruin your reputation and whenever you try to tell anyone about your fears or insecurities they just brush it off like "lol why would you think that you're worrying for no reason"

no exchanges for this game!

tell me your romantic situation in my asks [NOT MESSAGES] and i'll shuffle a song for you and write down a verse of the song that stands out for me.

the only thing you have to do is reblog and like this post and you have to be following me!

be kind and patient!

—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

I wish rich people went back to keeping artists as pets. Like when you’re wealthy enough you pick a cool weirdo to do regular commissions for you, and if you really want to flex on your peers, you’ve got several.

 And you visit them every once in a while like “hello, I’ve paid for your rent and your tools, have you worked on that commission giant oil painting of me getting sucked off by my political opponent, who is unfortunately still the mayor of this town, like I requested?”

 And your favourite feral art person looks up - mouth full of gravel and completely surrounded by art-related trash like “no, but I designed a helicopter.”

And you’re like “that’s fucking lit, the mayor doesn’t have a helicopter. Please carry on as you have.”

look, i know i'll get through it because i've gotten this far already, but i don't want to. i don't want to continue to work hard, i don't want to push through, i don't even want any reassurance. i just want rest. let me rest. why is rest so hard to come by?

considering making edgar allan poe’s works into my entire personality.

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.

It's always 'I love you' and never "kora kagaz tha yeh mann mera, likh liya naam ispe tera".

[Translation: My heart was a blank paper, but I wrote your name on it.]