Long Reads

And here I am again thinking about us. Maybe what we had could’ve lasted if we only threw away our pride. See we wore it like an armor, cold and rude and heavy. It covered every inch of skin on our bodies whenever we clashed, whenever we disagreed, whenever we made a mistake. Maybe if we took it off, steel won’t be met with steel and instead, we’ll find our arms wrapping our bodies together until we realize, we were never trying to fight. What we had was never a battle, we wore our pride like an armor but maybe it was our only threat. All we had to do was forgive. Forgive me for leaving, dear, and I’ll forgive you for not making me stay.
—  Me (JNH). Thoughts and musings.
politico.com
‘You’re Asian, Right? Why Are You Even Here?’
What I learned when I was attacked—and spared—for my race at a Black Lives Matter protest. By AARON MAK

MILWAUKEE — I knew the protest was going to spiral into something bigger when I saw a man in tears push a police officer. I had never seen anyone lay a hand on a cop, even amicably. But these people gathered now in the street were utterly out of patience. I wasn’t sure whether I would be caught in the crossfire. Then a community activist I had earlier asked to interview spotted me, and called me over.

“I can see from your face that you don’t think you’re safe,” he told me. He was black; I’m Chinese-American. “You are. You’re a minority, too.”

It was just the reassurance I was looking for. It would also turn out to be wrong.

Read more here

I had the chance to save you, but I wasn’t able to. Probably that’s why I’m the one who’s drowning now and you refuse to jump in. But I just want you to know that, I gave my all and it wasn’t enough. Maybe the fact that I fucking tried to help you go out of the water is all that matters. And the reason why you are not trying to save me now is because I don’t matter.
—  // 8-24-‘16, 11:25pm

Deep inside, where nothing’s fine, I’ve lost my mind.. Over you❤️
I can honestly say for so long now you’ve been on my mind from the moment I wake to the moment I sleep.

The last few days have helped to teach me so much, taught me how empty life feels without you, how to miss the smallest parts of our relationship I never realised were so important until now, how to have no one messaging me good morning and goodnight, and checking how my day is going. I stupidly check my phone, knowing there’ll be no message from you, but a small part of me prays there will be. Just knowing there’s someone there for me constantly, thinking about me, missing me, wanting to talk to when I’m feeling down, having problems at home or just feeling lonely. I still have this empty feeling inside and it doesn’t ever go away. Just forcing myself not to call you or text you is so hard and it’s taking so much for me to fight my heart 💔. Especially knowing by taking away your hope in a future between us, pushing you away and giving you this much time to think and move on, I’m probably making a massive mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life.


Don’t push someone away and expect them to still be there when you’re ready. I’ve always had this problem where I just push people away, to the point where I’ll sit in the dark all alone and force myself not to talk to them..knowing this is all I want to do.
When the storm comes I push those closest to me away. It’s not because of what they’ve said or done, but because I cant bear to let them see me this broken.

I hope today has been better for the rest of you ✍🏻

H
X

10

Jeanne de Clisson (1300-1359): the Lioness of Brittany

More historical details and footnotes up later today when I have more time. The short version is: we know she existed, that she led forces against France, that she became a pirate, and that she was protected by England. The extent of her feats varies greatly based on the telling – estimates of the length of her career as pirate range between five months and thirteen years! – but whatever the heck she actually did left quite an impression.

And here’s a quick link to buy the book!

Keep reading

I love you, more then you know.“ he said as she was walking away.

“It took me leaving for you to admit it? It took me begging you to not forget about me, for you to finally love me? It took me crying every night because I hadn’t heard from you in months, for you to realize I was worthy of love? You don’t love me, you just want me to stay.

—  ( you just want me to stay)

“There will come a time when you’ll feel so alone and you’ll wish for someone, anyone at all, to just come and pull you into a gentle embrace, caress your hair and tell you you are loved. Well, no one will come. You have to face the fact that no one will break into your house, rush to your bedroom and randomly hug you. And even if that does happen, let’s be honest, you’d probably call the cops on them.”

“Do you miss me?” she asked with tears threatening to spill.


“I miss your laugh, I miss how no matter what you’d always pay. I miss the way you hug me like you’re scared to let go. I miss your smell. I miss your constant cheering me on. I miss all our inside jokes. I miss how no matter how much I messed up, you always stayed.” he said with a sad smile.


With the tears running down her face she said, “ You know, I didn’t want to go. I wanted forever and longer with you. I love you so much, but there was no point in me staying for someone who didn’t really love me. You know this, right?”


“I know, darling.

—  (just because you miss me, doesnt mean you love me)
npr.org
Detangling Frank Ocean's 'Blonde': What It Is And Isn't
We got two writers, Ann Powers and Jason King, going back and forth on what they've found in the reclusive singer's third album.

Ocean seems to me the epitome of this millenia’s reluctant pop star — he’s a shrinking violet who went mostly invisible for the last four years; he rarely shows up to public events; and while he obviously knows how to write a solid radio-friendly pop song, he’s become largely absorbed by other aesthetic pursuits. But the concept of the reluctant pop star has also merged into the concept of the silent pop star — that reclusive artist who rarely, if ever, does interviews, has highly controlled outgoing communications and practices withholding information from the public and press as a matter of course. Caginess and silence also happen to be the strategies of those of who know, or have known, something about living in closets.

He looked like hell when I saw him walk through that door. He wasn’t handsome, like at all, but the frown on his face made him look even less appealing than usual.
He had uneven eyes paired with thick brown eyebrows and a thin set of lips. His pale skin made the freckles much more visible along with the dark bags under his eyes. He lifted his head and searched the room. When our eyes met I took the chance and winked at him, he almost smiled but instead he licked his lips and marched up to my desk.
I leaned in closer and unleashed a wicked grin.
“Hey handsome you look like hell today.”
He wasn’t impressed.
“And what exactly do we have in common?”
I smacked my lips and answered.
“Well babe, just like hell, you look terrifyingly hot today.”
Suddenly, the frown disappeared and he was smiling. His eyes were still uneven but they were alive and pulsing greens, his thin lips parted to show a gummy smile with the tip of his tongue peeking through his open-bite. He wasn’t handsome, I would know, but God he was beautiful.
—  //how she saw him //through her own eyes //obviously