When I was 12 boys slid their hand up my thigh and slapped my butt. I smiled and took it because I didn’t know it was okay to say stop. I didn’t know that I could say no. So, when the principal calls telling me my daughter is suspended for punching a boy who wouldn’t stop touching her, I will cook her favorite meals. When she tells me how she cursed at the boy who wouldn’t move his hands off her knee even though she asked him to, I will smile and pull out her favorite movie to watch together. I will celebrate the fact that she accepts her body as her own and knows she has the right to say no. I never want my daughter to think her body belongs to men, because it is her own and my god should she be proud. I will teach her it’s more than okay to say stop, something I wish I had known when I was that age.
don’t be soft, let the world know you exist // 5-26-14 // 9:01AM (via restrictedthoughts)
OH MY GOD FUCKIN YES PREAAAACH THIS IS SO FUCKIN RIGHT
The Arabic word for failure is built from the tripartite root of f-sh-l to become fashil, the harshest, most damaging word in the language, at least the way my Arabic teacher pronounced it. The word often twisted his dyspeptic mouth, spattering our lessons like ordnance from a cluster bomb. Everything was fashil. Me as a student, himself as a teacher, Cairo as a city, Egypt as a state, the Middle East as a region, Asia as a continent, communism as a theory, democracy as an ideal, Islam as it was practiced, humanity as a species, and, in the summer when the smog congealed, the sun as a source of light.“The Muse of Failure,” by Anand Balakrishnan, in Bidoun Magazine (via substituteteacherstripes)
(Nevermind the paid project I’m doing this week and starting full time work AND the end of summer. So much. So great. Oy.)
red delicious remains the worst apple with the most ironic name
i mean, it is red
and that’s all you can say for it.