By Alejandro Sintura

When the painter said, OK, you guys, take off your clothes! I startled at the plural, assuming I’d been engaged to model by myself. But then the dark-skinned god I knew as Aaron from my Econ class unzipped his jeans, and dropped them, grinning, on the floor. So I did, too, and clambered up beside him on the plywood box that elevated us above the clutch of paint-stained easels. Thoughtfully, the students posed our naked bodies. Someone fluffed the crispy hair between my legs into a dark brown bristling fan. And someone pinched the sides of Aaron’s face to pinken up his cheeks. Privately, I installed myself inside that mental space where I had hidden as a child when the world could be aborted no other way …

It was part of my plan to walk unclothed among the portraits my unclad body had provoked. So when we broke for lunch, the students lunging in a herd out back to smoke, I did. If you had asked me then why I modeled, I’d have said, to overcome my bourgeois insecurities, to combat my fear of what might happen if I showed myself completely naked to someone else. But if you asked me now? I’d describe the privilege of walking among a museum of strangers’ images devoted to oneself, and tell you what a privilege it was to see myself the varied ways that others did.

Some silly fellow had painted nipples on me the size and shape of frying eggs. Another jokester had shrunk them down as small as M&Ms. But someone serious and sad had shared a vision of my head as a clotted orb of hair and mouth, and brushed in underneath, a body headless as the horseman in the myth. Then I seemed to walk into the darkroom of my mind’s own eye and saw the self I’d always felt inside but never known: a complicated, unsmiling creature with a fear-tinged face. Around her the aura of something golden was fighting with whip-like straps of something black. She was staring straight into the future, trying to get out, trying to conceal her fear, completely unaware of how it glistened and glowed, and of how irresistible it was for the artist to spread it across the canvas so that everyone could see.

kate daniels, when I was the muse

Savage X Fenty by Rihanna

This South Korean man has been standing in front of the Israeli embassy in Seoul for over 380 days, braving the rain, cold, and loneliness — in solidarity with the Palestinian people and in protest against the genocide in Gaza.

Despite the distance and language barrier, his human conscience stands firmly with us.

Meanwhile, Sami's family in Gaza continues to endure hunger and bombing. They've lost their home and loved ones — but not their hope.

Every action counts. A like, a share, a donation - each one can bring light to those still living in the dark. Donate here.

reconnecting with my room after being around other people for too long

good shirt from the market today

What Strength Really Means 💪

✅️ Vetted by @gazavetters {537} ✅️

Hey everyone, my name is Abdelmajed. I don’t usually talk much about myself, but today, I want to share a little piece of my story.

I was born and raised in Gaza, a place that has always been my home 🏡. I grew up surrounded by my family, my friends, and the streets that I knew like the back of my hand. Life wasn’t always easy, but we had love, laughter, and dreams. I used to think that no matter what happened, home would always be here. But life has a way of changing things in ways we never expect.

Over the past months, everything I once knew has disappeared. The streets that were once filled with children playing are now silent. The houses that held so many memories are now just rubble. And the people I loved—some of them are gone forever. 💔

✅️ Vetted by @gazavetters {537} ✅️

Chuffed

Help Abdelmajed Escape Gaza and Rebuild His Life

My name is Abdelmajed, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Everything I once knew has been taken away—my home, my safety, and the people