today is the day

anonymous asked:

Hello this is not a reaction request but I hope you answer this :-) umm recent biography for the boys (assuming for "love train") Jaebum's bio has this "BIRTH NAME: PARK JAE BUM" park??? Isn't it im/lim???!! OmG I figured since he's your ultimate bæ and you know so much about him, can you research and explain this for me please? :-) thank you so much! xx

hi!!!!!

i saw it the other day too! it totally threw me off guard! I wasn’t sure how to look into it, but I was just going to assume it was his stage name again. Like how celebrities change their first AND last names to keep their personal lives personal. But I honestly have no clue what that could mean… I was like um what Im Jaebum IS ACTUALLY PARK JAEBUM!?

Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.
—  Love Actually

cosmonoughts asked:

talk about ziall moving into a new place and they want to make it feel homely but they're on a budget and they've never had to furnish a place before and all they have is like half a dozen candles harry got them as a home warming gift.

I mean…Niall and Zayn are both particular about their space, but in very different ways? Can you imagine, the two of them moving in together for the first time? That careful negotiation of boundaries and levels of tolerance? They’re both tidy in their own ways, it’s just that Zayn is like whirlwind. Like spilled ink. Scattered and omnipresent but artful. Niall is more particular. He’s clean and spare and minimal. 

Can you imagine them wandering around IKEA? Niall is drawn to furniture with simple angles in muted colors and he’s biting at his nails trying to imagine how everything will fit together in the space they’ve got to share. It’s not just his anymore, he understands that, but he’s got to live in it. And every time he turns around, Zayn is admiring a set of drapes with technicolor paint splatters or a wall clock that’s a garish orange or holding a purple velvet pillow up to a couch that’s striped mint and white, smiling.

“This would look sick, Ni.”

And Niall starts to sweat, right there in the store because what the hell are they doing? Who has he yoked himself to? Who is this mint and purple couch person? He’s cut the sleeves off his shirt and he’s covered in tattoos and Niall thinks sometimes that they’re from different planets. That there’s no way they could ever really understand each other. 

Keep reading

today was the day he wasn't supposed to be here

The doctor looked at my son and then looked at us and told us so. There was too much damage, he was too sick. Between the RSV and the bowel perforation, peritonitis and gangrene, there was no hope left. The best option was to sew him up, let him go, stop trying to save him. There was nothing left to do.

So we made the hard phone calls. We called our parents, our brothers, our family, and we told them he wouldn’t make it through the night. But he did. Somehow. And he made it through the next night. He made it through many more after that.

This is a day you never forget. It’s been four years, and it’s still the toughest day I can remember. Someone asks me what’s the most difficult thing I’ve been through, and I don’t have to think about it very long. I thought about it as soon as I woke up this morning. I glanced at the calendar and my stomach sunk back in on itself. I saw today’s date and my mind started reeling, going back in time. I thought about that night and my eyes immediately started to well up.

I looked around the living room at his toys. While he slept comfortably in his bed upstairs, I looked at all his stuff. His Batcave, his stuffed Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles chair and his action figures. I looked at his tricycle and his train table, cars and trucks and things with wheels, things that zoom and fly. A little boy’s things. Things we never thought he’d play with, or see, or even know existed. They are his things, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about how blessed he is to have a chance to play with them. And how blessed we are to have him here, especially on this day. The day he wasn’t supposed to be here.