“To get you here, they tell you Dubai is heaven. Then you get here and realise it is hell."
“I miss my country, my family and my land. We can grow food in Bangladesh. Here, nothing grows. Just oil and buildings.”—Immigrant workers trapped in Dubai (via stay-human)
"Feminists fuck better." Please stop. Men still hate you. "Watch me smash patriarchy while reverse cow-girlin’ you." He still thinks you’re a bitch. "I only fuck feminists." Thanks for letting me know nothing’s really changed. "Feminists can be sexy and cute!" I don’t care for mollifying feminism; you’re only trying to make it palpable for men. "Some porn stars are empowered by porn!" Individual empowerment doesn’t speak for macro-social repercussions of the very same industry; the majority of actresses in pornography go through shootings with the help of alcohol and drugs in order to numb the physical and mental abuse they suffer. Much of your individualistic understanding of empowerment and agency is very much complicit with patriarchal violence. So.
I get way too involved in any family-based thing. The vloggers I watch are having their twins tomorrow and I genuinely feel like I’m awaiting the birth of my two little sisters. It took me so long to remember I’m not a Kardashian.
“There are two types of waiting. There’s the waiting you do for something you know is coming, sooner or later—like waiting for the 6:28 train, or the school bus, or a party where a certain handsome boy might be. And then there’s the waiting for something you don’t know is coming. You don’t even know what it is exactly, but you’re hoping for it. You’re imagining it and living your life for it. That’s the kind of waiting that makes a fist in your heart.”—unknown (via amouremeline)
4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married? I wanna say twenty-five or twenty-seven, but probably by forty if not never.
6. Can you do a split? I’m gonna go with no seeing as I’m too afraid to find out.
32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender? I don’t actually know. I don’t think my mum ever wanted a son, so I doubt there was one planned anyway, but I can pretty safely assume that whatever it would’ve been, I wouldn’t have liked it.
34. Who’s your favorite person in the world? I mean, I like myself. I can’t pick between my mum and my sister. I love my friends too.
4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married? To be honest, I’ve made with peace with the fact I’m probably gonna die alone, so the most reasonable answer I can give is like, before seventy? Hopefully?
7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? I think I said seven, but now I’m questioning if lounging about while my dad steered me around and thought I was paying attention counts in the first place.
28. Have you ever had Indian food? I have, Katie.
41. How many times have you been to the hospital? Never. I mean, when I was born, but every other time has only been to visit or accompany other people. My dad took me to A&E when I was a baby because he didn’t know what hiccups were, so maybe that? Once?
44. What’s the last compliment you got? Some website you type your name in for compliments was like, “you are talented, beautiful and intelligent, priyanka”. Couple of hours ago.
1. What’s your favorite candle scent? I really like berry scents for candles, and vanilla. I like floral scents only if they’re paired with fruits, like certain flowers with mango or something, and I’m usually a fan of citrus smells but it can go either way with candles.
7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? Mate, I wanna say like, seven? I forgot by sunset though.
11. What would you name your daughter if you had one? It changes all the time, but I love the name Jaya. As in Jy-a, not Jay-a.
12. What would you name your son if you had one? Ooh, I really don’t know. I seem to gravitate towards names beginning with J, but that’s the most I can think of. The thing is yeah, I genuinely love the name Naveen, but The Princess and the Frog makes it really hard for me to take it seriously now. Same with the name Zayn (1D).
23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in? Do languages I know some of count? Urdu.
24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray? Grey.
45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning? If I’ve just woken up and they’re really distinctive, but it happens pretty rarely. I only started dreaming in my sleep again a couple of years ago (I think), because in secondary school, I’d sleep in short bursts that I don’t think allowed for it. I don’t actually know. Probably not.
46. What flavor tea do you enjoy? I like any combination of lemon, orange blossom, and ginger. But I don’t drink hot drinks, and even that’s like, maybe twice a year?
50. Why do you have a tumblr? Initially it was because I gave in to a couple of friends and it made more sense than visiting their individual blogs to read their posts, but now it’s because I really like the content and the people I’m around.
I’m taking a year out next year, a year off. Which means like, in six/seven months. Second year was weird and I’m better now, but this year is making up for lost time and I don’t think I’m in the right place to jump into doing my PGCE yet. I tried to kid myself doing a master’s made sense but when I actually sat down to apply, it hit me how colossally pointless it was to put myself through the most difficult and expensive academic year of my life just to avoid living at home for another year and doing a course I’m not ready for. I’m gonna go home this weekend and sit my mum down to explain the decision to her. I think she knows I don’t wanna do an M.A anymore, but she probably thinks I’m gonna jump right into the PGCE, and like, ha. She told me over the phone when I was skirting around the issue that she’ll love and support me no matter what, but I still get this feeling she’s gonna be a little pissed.
I don’t think I care the way I would have done a year ago. I have this giant poster of the U.S on the wall in front of me right now - “poster” here means spread out roadmap it took half a sheet of blu-tack to keep up - and I keep getting this weird jolt every now and again of like, lol, remember in first year when you promised mum you’d work really hard and graduate with first-class honours and she promised to put some money towards the potential road trip you’ve always wanted to do if it happened, as a graduation gift? Like, I have an essay due on Thursday, one on Friday, and I still haven’t even looked at the questions. I dunno. I don’t feel like I’ve failed at all. It’s more a reminder of a time when I didn’t know and understand the things I do now, which is better in a way. Somehow.
And people need to stop giving me this really sympathetic look and tone when I explain the plan. I know they conflate it with failing because I’ve always been so vocal about the university-to-teaching trajectory that’s been planned since I was like, fourteen, but okay. I do need to do it. Ideally I’m gonna find work and sit down and figure out the dates to apply for the 2015/16 PGCE cycle. Sleep well and eat healthy and that. I’m probably gonna spend most of my time avoiding relative’s questions and crying into my mum’s cooking over why the hell I thought this made sense in late February/early March, photos and liveblogs of which will be posted to some 4am-created blog called something like, “Operation: Getting My Shit Together.” But I can deal.
I’ve always wanted to do something stupid and impulsive that’d somehow make me grow as a person, but I have too much sense and not enough money to buy a plane ticket to somewhere, and this has been deliberated over long enough for me to feel just the right amount of nervous and calm. Whatever. I’ve made my bed and I’m gonna lie in it and hopefully have enough in me to get up the next morning and do something right. I’m rooting for myself and somewhere in this world, we all know Beyoncé is too.
I remember reading a post a while ago, I think it was about M.I.A and now I’m wishing I’d tagged it properly, on how - I wanna say POC - make claims we know to be true and nobody ever believes us, and then we get proven right. And all you do is just wait to be vindicated. And like, yeah? I’ve felt it more these past couple of years, but yeah. I feel it as a girl/woman of colour and every facet involved in that. I’m so sick of knowing someone is a piece of shit, is racist and sexist and misogynistic and prejudiced in every way they are, famous or not, and being so uncomfortable all the time, and nobody believing me until they catch it themselves. It sounds like a point of pride and it really isn’t, but I can honestly say I’ve never been wrong about it. Ever. And it does feel like that quote, like nothing I feel or say or do is valid until it’s recognised by people who put it down to paranoia or overreacting in the first place, and I can’t ever have an impact and warn people and be taken seriously. I can just sit around waiting to be proven right. If it even happens.
when men dress up as women or white people wear hijabs or darken their skin in order to “see how hard it is,” they’re simply admitting that they believe those members of those groups are untrustworthy to the point that they can’t honestly relay the reality of their own experiences.
warning for #graphic content #rape #choking #underage #restraints
summary of the original post for anyone who can’t read it for one reason or another: jared leto coerces and forces fans (some whom are underage) into sex with him, is frequently physically and verbally violent with them, harms them throughout, and ignores their protests and expressions of discomfort. the account above includes him choking and restraining an underage fan, who later said of the allegedly consensual encounter that “i felt as though i was being raped” and “it seemed like he thought he was raping me.” there are two accounts described in detail in the original post, proceed with caution. leto takes advantage of groupies’ willingness (or assumed willingness, as it’s clearly not always the case) to sleep with him and then rapes them.
deposit this man in the nearest trash incinerator as soon as humanly possible.
i’m on campus waiting as my dissertation gets spiral bound (i wanted it heat bound but forgot at the till) and im gonna submit it in like, 10 minutes . it’s also that thing where you go onto campus to do one thing so you look like a mess and all the hot people come out in hoards. i smell great though.
guys, I’m so sorry with how awful I’m being at replying to recent messages/post comments. this is just to let you know I’m not ignoring anyone, or doing any of the work I should be doing for that matter. (curling up in a ball and avoiding any responsibilities takes up a surprising amount of time). hope you’re all doing well!
i swear one of the most frustrating things in the world is realising you can’t say a thing to make someone “get” it, and then realising that itself took up time and you’ve missed your window to reply seamlessly, but you’ll feel upset and angry and guilty for you-don’t-know-how-long if you don’t say anything.
aw shit valentines day is next week get ready for the weakest shittiest Super Relatable posts from people you probably pity followed going on about how their valentine is pizza and stupid comic sans cards and all that recycled nonsense
the coach is supposed to reach my uni town stop in half an hour. i say ‘supposed’ - we’ve been stuck in traffic no more than two miles outside of victoria (coach station, where we left from) for two hours and thirty-seven minutes. i am in the most awkward seat and the driver is on the phone and everyone’s listening. and i’m hungry but all i have on me is one polo.
3 1/2 hour trip back to my uni town tomorrow. i plan on doing my reading on the coach, dropping my suitcase in my room and fixing my hair and make-up, then running back out the door to make it to my 5pm. like, i’m probably gonna make it through the door and then sleep in the hallway, but hope is hope, and I didn’t strategically book a coach that arrives at 3pm for nothing.
ordering pizza in this house is the most stressful thing ever. I swear I cannot remember the last time one of us suggested take-out without my mum + sister + I all not speaking to each other by the time it arrives. it was a mini dispute over jalapeño poppers this time.