and-if-i-want-it-badly-enough

Of course I want you back. It’s unbelievable how much I want you back. 
I want you badly enough to stay away from you. Badly enough to know that you’re happy now, and badly enough that letting you be happy without me is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
—  But I’m glad you’re happy

The conversation ranged from the people they knew, matches and teams for sports I’d never heard of (apparently, Amren was a vicious, obsessive supporter of one), new shops, music they’d heard, clubs they favored…

-ACOMAF Page 281

I don’t talk much about my love of sports on this site. But I love sports. A lot. For personal reasons and just because it’s fun. I’ve often wondered about what it would be like to find myself in Velaris as me and not as Feyre or one of the other characters, and wondered how I would fit in there. It’s a gorgeous city with so many elements weaved in that remind me of some of my favorite places in the world. But I always felt like sport was missing and it made me feel like maybe this most magical fantasy world I live in daily wouldn’t be a complete home for me if I ever - you know - *magically* wound up there.

Then I read this the other night while studying up for Rhys. I forgot all about this line! (Remember those many times I said I’m not a detail oriented reader?) And I think the smile on my face could have killed a small army.

THEY HAVE SPORTS IN PRYTHIAN AND I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING. Badly enough that I’d probably waste my 30-60 seconds with SJM at a con to ask her. What do they play? Are they team sports? Do the Illyrians play too? Do they fly in the sky like Quidditch? Do they resemble mortal games or are they 100% unique to fae?

WHAT DOES AMREN WATCH AND CAN I GO WITH HER TO A GAME AND EAT PEANUTS WHILE WE WATCH TAKE ME AMREN TAKE ME ON A SPORTS DATE

And how do they watch? There’s no TV or radio, so do you have to go to a game live to know what the final scores were? Or is there a bulletin that circulates through Prythian with updates? What do you get for winning? Do athletes have the same celebrity status there as they do in our world? Who are the most famous players? Is there an ESPNFae I can watch?

And what is sports culture like in society? Do High Fae turn their noses up at it as being lesser? Is it something only the lesser fae indulge in? Or is it a rich man’s business, with only the wealthy, High Fae affording the good seats like Jack at a Lakers game? Can you play recreationally for fun, or do you have be upper crust to do it because playing “professionally” is the only way in?

WAIT HOW DOES ONE GET IN? College is the key to pro sports in the US, but in the fae world that probably doesn’t exist? So how do they find you? Do you just try out? Do kids go into leagues and get drafted as they mature? Do you have play for a team within your court or can you get ‘traded’ to other teams from other courts? Do the courts play each other? Do the courts even have the same sports??

TELL ME ALL THE THINGS SARAH I NEED TO KNOW THIS

Basically the point I’m trying to make is - fae have sports and it makes me happy.

I’m poly and my bf is mono. I recently caught feelings for a coworker and my bf is not happy about it. We’ve been together for 6 years and I don’t want to ruin that. Can I change to be mono? Maybe therapy? It’s killing me and I don’t know what to do.

There is no poly-to-mono conversion therapy, nor should there be. If you have an inherent ability and desire to love multiple people at once, well, that’s who you are.

You can’t really change your feelings, but what you can focus on is how you choose to act on those feelings. A lot of relationships - heck, a lot of adult life - requires you to not pursue every single fun, good-feeling thing.

While this isn’t exactly a core aspect of my identity, I frequently have feelings that make me want to skip work and lounge in the pool instead. But I choose not to act on those desires, because even though I want something, it doesn’t mean I want it badly enough to risk something very important to me, like my job and my ability to provide for myself and my family.

Sometimes I encounter a Very Rude Person and want to tell them to fuck right off, but if they are a guest of a friend of mine, I choose instead to be politely avoidant. My point is, it’s possible to have impulses and not act on them, or desires and not pursue them. In my experience, that’s a lot easier than simply trying to shut down the impulses and desires at the root.

I’m afraid it’s not going to end well if you just try to thinkify or therapize yourself out of being polyamorous - but you can manage and work the those feelings for your coworker in a way that prevents them from impacting this relationship that you cherish. You could choose to spend less time talking to said coworker, or try to ‘close the door’ to the part of your mind that sees him as a potential sexual/romantic option. It is okay to let yourself think “I want this, but not bad enough to pay what it costs.”

(Of course, if this becomes impossible and untenable, and not being able to express or live into your polyamorous self leads to misery and resentment, then you need to think about whether suppressing those desires long-term is healthy for you and your relationship or whether you need to make a different set of choices. But that’s not really what you asked.)

By temperament I’m a vagabond and a tramp. I don’t want money badly enough to work for it. In my opinion it’s a shame that there is so much work in the world. One of the saddest things is that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.

William Faulkner

sometimes i think to myself wow just once i want to be considered sexy and not just cute but then i remember that i have a “young” face and a “young” body and think about how much work it be and realize that i don’t want it badly enough

Jet Wolf Summarizes Act 32

The manga and I kind of hate each other. This is unfortunate, but still, I’m determined to come out of this with something. Rather than spend energy on a liveblog that’s increasingly negative, I’m reading each manga act (mostly) silently, and then writing up summaries at the end. I won’t pull my punches. There’s going to be criticism and snark about the manga, either wholesale or in details. If that isn’t a thing you feel like reading, please skip this post!


In a rare moment of mercy, the manga opens by giving me a positive feeling, as Chibs is ecstatic about Pluto’s return, and they hug, and I will not think about anything besides that, no I will not. To help me in this, almost immediately Pluto explains her return with this:

Setting aside that I’d really appreciate if everyone disconnected their lips from NQS’s bless’d ass cheeks for ten seconds, CONSIDER PLUTO THAT SHE COULD HAVE REVIVED YOU AT ANY TIME BUT FUCKING WAITED UNTIL SHE COULD USE YOU.

PEOPLE REPLACE SCISSORS FASTER THAN SHE GAVE YOU YOUR LIFE BACK AFTER YOU SACRIFICED YOURSELF TO SAVE HER “PRECIOUS” DAUGHTER AND THE VERY FABRIC OF THE UNIVERSE

A SACRIFICE WHICH SHE THEN TURNED AROUND AND PISSED ALL OVER BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO SAY “HI” TO HERSELF

HAVE I MENTIONED LATELY HOW MUCH I LOATHE MANGA NEO-QUEEN SERENITY

#JUSTICEFORPLUTO3KALWAYS

Speaking of the fucking Serenity line, for no readily apparent reason, Usagi pops into Princess Serenity form, and the Outers bow at her feet, like this is the only thing they ever wanted to do, between threatening her and cornering her in the woods and shit. They introduce themselves and claim that they were only trying to protect Usagi and Earth. We then get backstory about how they were always out there separate from everyone else and blah blah blah. They also drop exposition on the Death Busters, but it’s equally boring, trust me. The whole mess concludes with “Yeah, we still have to do this alone”, which manages to make even less sense here than it did in the Saturn arc of the anime, so kudos, manga. This is the best part, though:

HARUKA YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WENT OUT OF YOUR WAY TO MAKE FIRST CONTACT AND THEN KEEP FUCKING TALKING TO THEM

IF YOU’D WANTED TO REMAIN SEPARATE MAYBE WALKING UP TO THEM EVERY TEN MINUTES TO COOLLY THREATEN “never talk to us” WAS NOT THE WAY TO ACCOMPLISH THAT TASK

WHO TOLD WHO ABOUT TALISMANS HARUKA

NEWSFLASH: THAT WAS YOU IDIOTS WITH YOUR FUCKING HELICOPTER TAXI SERVICE

WHICH PS: YOU FLY AROUND IN FUCKING PERSONAL HELICOPTERS MAYBE THIS IS NOT THE WAY TO MAINTAIN A LOW PROFILE

BUT SURE TELL ME AGAIN HOW THIS IS ALL THE INNERS’ FAULT

Luna spends her morning reading the paper, and confirms that Infinity students have been dying all over the place. Good thing our heroes are focused on saving innocent lives and not frivolous matters of precisely no consequence!

We also get some Tomoe backstory, but it’s functionally “he was a bad guy who sold out to the highest bidder and got what he deserved”. Luna tells Chibs that it’s her duty as a Senshi to spy on Hotaru, which I feel should be in violation of Senshi Friendship Bylaws, but it’s so far from my greatest complaint at this point.

Kaolinite freaks out a bit because who cares, and Tomoe threatens her because the arc is going to end soon and we can’t have mini-bosses still floating about. This is also the impetus for Cyprine to march up to the altar. I actually really loved the Inners’ fight with her in 123. I have no such expectations here.

Chbi-Usa has a movie date with Hotaru. That fucking ceramic project of hers shows up again. That fake holy grail has impacted the plot more than any of the Inners this arc. But Hotaru doesn’t make it before the movie starts, so Chibs dumps her other friends (FUCK YOU YET AGAIN MOMO AND IRRITATING BOY) and runs to Hotaru’s house. She arrives just in time to find out

HOTARU’S A ROBOT I GUESS?? (with Intel inside)

OH NO EVERYTHING IS SO GWOOO

Hotaru angsts a lot, and then the Outers show up.

Petition to have Hotaru actually use her fucking curtains. THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON HOTARU

Chibs stops freaking out and is like “Oh gee, maybe running away in stark terror at the sight of my BFF’s trauma hurt her feelings”, but before she can make it right, it starts to hail AND THEN LITERALLY INCAPACITATES HER I AM NOT EVEN EXAGGERATING.

But Usagi and Mamoru just happen to find her, and I’m thankful once again that Tokyo is the size of a very small rural town with one combination post office/bar.

Cyprine chooses then to show up, and she blasts Haruka through Hotaru’s window? I think? Maybe? It’s fucking impossible to tell where anything’s happening. Well, if it’s Hotaru’s room, everyone transforms right in front of her, because we know there’s nothing more important to Haruka than protecting the integrity of her secret identity.

Meanwhile the cats see the Outers fighting (??) and dispatch the Inners (???) but all of Tokyo is rioting (????). I guess that’s Cyprine’s patented RIOT HAIL or something, I don’t know, nobody knows, it’s not important. She makes the Inners and Outers hate each other though

and no lie, this is legit everything I wanted from Episode 126. Except we don’t actually get a fight, we don’t get anything, it’s just an excuse for Usagi and Mamoru (with bonus Chibs) to Hold Hands And Make Something Powerful With Their Love. Again.

It’s the actual Holy Grail this time. Sure, I guess. I wonder if they could summon a pizza the same way? I wonder if I want a pizza badly enough to have to sit through them doing it.

anonymous asked:

Cartoon.

the epitome of magical thinking

(one word prompt thingy)

Kurt doesn’t know where the boy comes from. Maybe he’s the Disney prince who was never promised to Kurt as a child. Maybe he’s the dapper, dancing man in all those musicals Kurt used to watch with his mother. Maybe Kurt’s looking into this too deeply and he’s just Kurt’s current, sharply-tailored, GQ fantasy, keeping him afloat in the Interesting Boy Desert that is Lima, Ohio. 

Whoever he is, when Kurt puts his pencil to the paper to draw him, the boy always looks the same. 

Keep reading

STOP TELLING ME HOW TO BE A “GOOD” SPOONIE

1.  Don’t tell me I need to find a way to work around my limitations.

2.  Don’t imply that I’m a bad Spoonie because I dared to admit publicly something was inaccessible to me.

3. Don’t agree that something is inaccessible to me, but if I wanted it badly enough I could find a way to enjoy it.

4.  Don’t act like you are a good Spoonie because even though something is inaccessable, YOU are trying to find ways to enjoy it.

I don’t need you giving me 101 more things I need to expend energy on when I am worried about having enough energy to shower. 

DON’T PUT THIS SHIT ON ME.

Camila Cabello: "Our Dreams Were Bigger Than Our Fears

Beautifully written by Camila herself 👍

——

A bus. The yellow lighting of the gas station against the dark hours of midnight. Fast asleep. Silence. My head slumped over my mom’s shoulder. Her voice timid and hesitant as she stumbled through a sentence in English at the cash register. A Winnie the Pooh journal. These are the things I remember when I think of when my mom and I immigrated to America.

I was almost 7 at the time, born in Havana, Cuba. My papá is puro Mexicano and we lived back and forth between the heat of Havana and the concrete jungle of Mexico City. I didn’t realize it then, but, boy, does it hit me now. I realize how scary it must have been for them. For my mom to leave the streets of Havana where our neighbors were our friends, where we gathered every holiday to eat pork and my grandma’s rice and beans, to not hear the malecón and the heartbeat of her city pulsing with every crash of the wave. For my Dad to leave behind his four brothers and sisters, the memory of his parents, the street vendors selling the elotes con mayonesa that I would beg him to get in the mornings before school, the best friends he’d grown up with … everything. To decide to start from the ground up.

With a couple hundred dollars, the clothes on our backs, no family in the United States, and no clue of what was going to happen next, that’s exactly what we did. Like my mom said, “I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.” And that was enough.

Why were we packing up our stuff? Why was my grandma hugging me tighter than usual? Where were we going? “We’re going to Disney World!” That’s what my Mom told me when we were crossing the border. She packed a little backpack with my Winnie the Pooh journal and my doll, and we crossed the border from Mexico to the US, seeing my Dad become an ant in the distance as he stayed behind.

Just Disney World. Whenever I have to make a decision now and I’m afraid, my mom always reminds me of that day. “That day, I knew if I thought about it, fear would make me turn back. That’s why when you’re afraid, you force yourself to jump. You don’t think, you just jump,” she says to me.

After she sat down with the immigration officer in a tiny office, we and a bunch of people from other countries with similar hopes were placed in rooms with tiny beds in them, a hotel full of these rooms. It was me and my mom and two other families in a little room waiting for somebody to come in and let us know if we were going to be granted permission to enter the US or be sent back. Some people spent days there, some spent weeks in agonizing anxiety over what the answer would be. Meanwhile, I was wondering when the heck we were going to get to Disney. We were there only a day when we finally got the news. The room bursted with joy, everybody around me clapping and hugging and screaming and crying! And me yelling out “Yay! We’re all going to Disney!” Little did I know.

Little me and my mamá ended up on a Greyhound bus to Miami that took 36 hours — that’s where I have my most vivid memories. Other stuff I vaguely remember and know from stories my parents told me years after. But I remember writing in my Winnie the Pooh journal a lot on that bus ride.

We got to Miami and moved into my grandpa’s colleague’s house who later became my godmother. My mom was a very good architect in Cuba, but when she came to America none of the degrees she earned in Cuba counted, so to make enough to keep us fed and put me into school she began stacking shoes in Marshalls and going to school at night to take courses in English, all while taking me to and from school and helping me with my homework all by herself, alone in a strange country. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must have been for her to have worked her whole life in architecture and then have it all erased when she came here.

One day, as if God was listening, two elderly Cuban women were conversing with her and told her: “Oye, tu estás muy bonita para trabajar en Marshalls. Where are you from?” My mom told her the story of how she was Cuban and she was actually an architect. You wouldn’t believe it, but the two Cuban women said they had a brother who worked in architecture and needed someone who worked in Autocad, a complicated architectural computer program. They asked her: “Do you know Autocad?” Internally, my mom was like “Autocad? What the hell is Autocad? We use pencil and paper where I’m from.” But to the ladies, she said: “Autocad? Of course. Yes, of course. I can do that.” She learned how to use the program in a week and made enough to move us out of my godmother’s house and into an apartment.

She learned fast because she literally had to in order to survive. Immigrants have one thing in common: Hunger. I don’t mean it literally, although that’s true too, but metaphorically. The hunger to do the impossible because you have no choice, because you came too damn far, because you’ve known what struggling is, and you’re not going to take an opportunity for granted. The hunger and ability to win above people with better circumstances than you simply because you want it badly enough.

Long story short, my papá came over from Mexico a year and a half later — I had a little calendar in my room counting down the days — because he couldn’t stand being away from us. He went through such hardship to cross the Mexican border and had it harder than my mom and I did, literally risking his life for his family to physically make it here. When he first came to the US, he started off washing cars in front of Dolphin Mall in the blistering Miami heat. But we kept moving on up … with the Latin community in Miami, helping each other up as we did it. Slowly and slowly my parents kept working and climbing and ended up forming a construction company together named after my sister and I. They always pushed me to focus on my studies because the whole reason we came here was so my sister and I could have better opportunities in life than they did. They said: “Money comes and goes, but your education, lo que tienes aquí (and they would point to my head while saying that), nobody can ever take that away from you.” They let me know that in order to go a good college I had to get a scholarship, so I worked as hard as I could. However — plot twist! — that didn’t quite go the way we thought it would.

You see, in 9th grade, a little girl who had never sung in front of people before asked her parents if they could take her to Greensboro, NC, to audition for a little show called The X Factor. Yikes! I had never sang in front of people before. Well, did my mom know Autocad? No. Did I know how to perform on a stage on TV? No. But I wanted it badly enough, and I learned from my family that if you work hard enough and you want it badly enough, you can do the impossible.

I was wrong about one thing. My mamá and papá did not leave everything behind, they brought it with them. My grandma still makes pork and rice and beans every holiday like she did, and my mom still feels the waves of the malecón in her heartbeat because she still feels the most at peace when she’s by the sea. My grandma and dad still get drunk and sing Luis Miguel in the kitchen. We found our favorite Taco spot in Miami (I capitalized Taco because they are that good). And whenever we find another person from our country, we freak out. “¿De qué parte?” Because we have home in us. Because we brought it with us. Every Cuban brought it with them and so we have Miami. Mexicans brought it and so we have the best Mexican food ever. The Italians brought it and so we have pizza. The Swedish brought it and we have great pop songs. The list goes on and on. And so, that’s why when I hear a bigoted, racist man with power and influence speak with anger and ill-will about immigrants, I think “what a fool.”

I am so proud to be Cuban-Mexican. This country was built on immigrants. People who were brave enough to start over. How strong we are to leave behind everything we know in hopes of something better. We are not fearless, we just have dreams bigger than our fears. We jump. We run. We swim, we move mountains, we do whatever it takes. And so next time, when anybody wants to tell you they want to build a “wall” on our border, remember behind that wall is struggle, determination,hunger. Behind that wall, could be the next cure for cancer, the next scientist, the next artist, the next drummer, the next anything they work hard enough to become!

P.S. I did end up going to Disney for the first time a year later.

Camila Cabello (September 14, 2016)

—–
http://www.popsugar.com/latina/Camila-Cabello-Her-Cuban-Background-42239921

The Bone Carver (Rhys POV)

Chapter 18. ACOMAF. Rhysey-Piecey. A very angsty, miserable Rhysey-Piecey. I take no credit for dialogue nor ideas. They belong to Sarah J. Maas.

In the Darkness

“Who is he? What is he?” Feyre asked.

The walls of the prison were stiff and dark making it difficult to see and understand. Memories of Under the Mountain were amplified in the stale silence where creeping whisperings could almost be heard. Almost, but not quite.

“No one knows,” I replied. “He’ll appear as he wants to appear.”

“Shape-shifter?”

“Yes and no. He’ll appear to you as one thing, and I might be standing right beside you and see another.”

Keep reading

Endings

Thank you Anon! This was a legit challenge, hope you like it!

You tape up the last box with a sigh then write ‘kitchen’ on it. You and Spencer have been working on packing up all his stuff for the past two days. You stand up and survey the apartment, the bookshelf had taken the longest, with his hundreds of books the boxes had gotten heavy quickly. He’s been so sad these past few days, and in all honesty you have been too. You’re trying not to let it show but this seems so final.
“Hey.” You hadn’t heard him come back in, he glances around the apartment, void of nearly all of his things. “Are you sure about this?” He asks quietly those solemn brown eyes staring into your own. He looks so sad it breaks your heart.
“Spence. We’ve talked about this, this is the best decision. For both of us.”
“But-” You press a soft kiss to his cheek stopping the argument that you know is coming. You’re tired. You don’t want to keep going in circles about this. You understand that he might not be ready for this but knowing Spencer he might never be one hundred percent ready.
“Do you want me to bring these boxes down?” You’ll give him a moment alone to reflect on what the place means to him. This is the place where you had first told him you’d liked him. The first place you’d kissed. You drop the last two boxes in the back of the truck. This was where he had told you he loved you for the first time. He’d stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed your hand then turned you to face him. He’d been watching your eyes, then smiled and kissed you softly then had whispered those three little words. Every time he said them you still got butterflies. You head back up to the apartment, this was the first place you’d had sex, where you’d burnt food so badly that you’d set off the fire alarms. Where you’d nursed him through the flu, and he had nursed you through one epic hangover after your college friends had come to town and partied like you were still 22. You chuckle softly to yourself, you and Spencer had only been together for just over a year and that apartment held so many memories for you that you can’t imagine what it holds for him. It had been his refuge since he’d started at the BAU. You walk back into the apartment to see Spencer leaning against a windowsill.
“Spence?”
“Hey. I was just thinking, this is the window that I watched Alex walk away from the team from. This is also the window where I saw you for the first time.”
“Oh?” You’ve never heard this story before.
“Yea.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as you wrap your arms around his waist. “It was pouring rain. You were carrying two big bags and a bright red umbrella, I saw you almost drop those bags twice before I convinced myself it wouldn’t be creepy to go down and help you.” You remember this day, you’d just moved into town and had needed food. “By the time I got down there you were long gone and I stood out there in the rain kicking myself. I’d lost you. I kept watch for you after that. When we met I didn’t really have to go into work that day I just wanted to meet you badly enough that I went in.”
“You never told me that!” You laugh softly. “That’s more of a Derek move than I thought you’d do.” You tease.
“It worked out well for both of us didn’t it?” He asks softly kissing your forehead you tilt your face up and meet his lips with your own. God you’re crazy about him.
“It did. Are you ready?” He sighs, pulls his key off the ring then leaves it on the counter. You dig yours out of your pocket and leave it with his. Taking your hand you walk the door and he glances behind him.
“You know. Endings aren’t always a bad thing.” He kisses you again and you smile. “Let’s go home.” He mutters and you nod. Home. With him. Your home. No endings aren’t always bad.

anonymous asked:

Would you trade nudes?

Nah you know there isn’t really anything I want badly enough to trade my nudes for. Unless you got a couple mill hidin up ya sleeves 👀💸💰

Camila Cabello: "Our Dreams Were Bigger Than Our Fears"

A bus. The yellow lighting of the gas station against the dark hours of midnight. Fast asleep. Silence. My head slumped over my mom’s shoulder. Her voice timid and hesitant as she stumbled through a sentence in English at the cash register. A Winnie the Pooh journal. These are the things I remember when I think of when my mom and I immigrated to America.

I was almost 7 at the time, born in Havana, Cuba. My papá is puro Mexicano and we lived back and forth between the heat of Havana and the concrete jungle of Mexico City. I didn’t realize it then, but, boy, does it hit me now. I realize how scary it must have been for them. For my mom to leave the streets of Havana where our neighbors were our friends, where we gathered every holiday to eat pork and my grandma’s rice and beans, to not hear the malecón and the heartbeat of her city pulsing with every crash of the wave. For my Dad to leave behind his four brothers and sisters, the memory of his parents, the street vendors selling the elotes con mayonesa that I would beg him to get in the mornings before school, the best friends he’d grown up with … everything. To decide to start from the ground up.

With a couple hundred dollars, the clothes on our backs, no family in the United States, and no clue of what was going to happen next, that’s exactly what we did. Like my mom said, “I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.” And that was enough.

Why were we packing up our stuff? Why was my grandma hugging me tighter than usual? Where were we going? “We’re going to Disney World!” That’s what my Mom told me when we were crossing the border. She packed a little backpack with my Winnie the Pooh journal and my doll, and we crossed the border from Mexico to the US, seeing my Dad become an ant in the distance as he stayed behind.

Just Disney World. Whenever I have to make a decision now and I’m afraid, my mom always reminds me of that day. “That day, I knew if I thought about it, fear would make me turn back. That’s why when you’re afraid, you force yourself to jump. You don’t think, you just jump,” she says to me.

After she sat down with the immigration officer in a tiny office, we and a bunch of people from other countries with similar hopes were placed in rooms with tiny beds in them, a hotel full of these rooms. It was me and my mom and two other families in a little room waiting for somebody to come in and let us know if we were going to be granted permission to enter the US or be sent back. Some people spent days there, some spent weeks in agonizing anxiety over what the answer would be. Meanwhile, I was wondering when the heck we were going to get to Disney. We were there only a day when we finally got the news. The room bursted with joy, everybody around me clapping and hugging and screaming and crying! And me yelling out “Yay! We’re all going to Disney!” Little did I know.

Little me and my mamá ended up on a Greyhound bus to Miami that took 36 hours — that’s where I have my most vivid memories. Other stuff I vaguely remember and know from stories my parents told me years after. But I remember writing in my Winnie the Pooh journal a lot on that bus ride.

We got to Miami and moved into my grandpa’s colleague’s house who later became my godmother. My mom was a very good architect in Cuba, but when she came to America none of the degrees she earned in Cuba counted, so to make enough to keep us fed and put me into school she began stacking shoes in Marshalls and going to school at night to take courses in English, all while taking me to and from school and helping me with my homework all by herself, alone in a strange country. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must have been for her to have worked her whole life in architecture and then have it all erased when she came here.

One day, as if God was listening, two elderly Cuban women were conversing with her and told her: “Oye, tu estás muy bonita para trabajar en Marshalls. Where are you from?” My mom told her the story of how she was Cuban and she was actually an architect. You wouldn’t believe it, but the two Cuban women said they had a brother who worked in architecture and needed someone who worked in Autocad, a complicated architectural computer program. They asked her: “Do you know Autocad?” Internally, my mom was like “Autocad? What the hell is Autocad? We use pencil and paper where I’m from.” But to the ladies, she said: “Autocad? Of course. Yes, of course. I can do that.” She learned how to use the program in a week and made enough to move us out of my godmother’s house and into an apartment.

She learned fast because she literally had to in order to survive. Immigrants have one thing in common: Hunger. I don’t mean it literally, although that’s true too, but metaphorically. The hunger to do the impossible because you have no choice, because you came too damn far, because you’ve known what struggling is, and you’re not going to take an opportunity for granted. The hunger and ability to win above people with better circumstances than you simply because you want it badly enough.

Long story short, my papá came over from Mexico a year and a half later — I had a little calendar in my room counting down the days — because he couldn’t stand being away from us. He went through such hardship to cross the Mexican border and had it harder than my mom and I did, literally risking his life for his family to physically make it here. When he first came to the US, he started off washing cars in front of Dolphin Mall in the blistering Miami heat. But we kept moving on up … with the Latin community in Miami, helping each other up as we did it. Slowly and slowly my parents kept working and climbing and ended up forming a construction company together named after my sister and I. They always pushed me to focus on my studies because the whole reason we came here was so my sister and I could have better opportunities in life than they did. They said: “Money comes and goes, but your education, lo que tienes aquí (and they would point to my head while saying that), nobody can ever take that away from you.” They let me know that in order to go a good college I had to get a scholarship, so I worked as hard as I could. However — plot twist! — that didn’t quite go the way we thought it would.

You see, in 9th grade, a little girl who had never sung in front of people before asked her parents if they could take her to Greensboro, NC, to audition for a little show called The X Factor. Yikes! I had never sang in front of people before. Well, did my mom know Autocad? No. Did I know how to perform on a stage on TV? No. But I wanted it badly enough, and I learned from my family that if you work hard enough and you want it badly enough, you can do the impossible.

I was wrong about one thing. My mamá and papá did not leave everything behind, they brought it with them. My grandma still makes pork and rice and beans every holiday like she did, and my mom still feels the waves of the malecón in her heartbeat because she still feels the most at peace when she’s by the sea. My grandma and dad still get drunk and sing Luis Miguel in the kitchen. We found our favorite Taco spot in Miami (I capitalized Taco because they are that good). And whenever we find another person from our country, we freak out. “¿De qué parte?” Because we have home in us. Because we brought it with us. Every Cuban brought it with them and so we have Miami. Mexicans brought it and so we have the best Mexican food ever. The Italians brought it and so we have pizza. The Swedish brought it and we have great pop songs. The list goes on and on. And so, that’s why when I hear a bigoted, racist man with power and influence speak with anger and ill-will about immigrants, I think “what a fool.”

I am so proud to be Cuban-Mexican. This country was built on immigrants. People who were brave enough to start over. How strong we are to leave behind everything we know in hopes of something better. We are not fearless, we just have dreams bigger than our fears. We jump. We run. We swim, we move mountains, we do whatever it takes. And so next time, when anybody wants to tell you they want to build a “wall” on our border, remember behind that wall is struggle, determination, hunger. Behind that wall, could be the next cure for cancer, the next scientist, the next artist, the next drummer, the next anything they work hard enough to become!

P.S. I did end up going to Disney for the first time a year later. [source]

Murder Buddies

Title: Murder Buddies

Anonymous asked: Jerome/reader from his POV where he’s trying really hard not to catch feelings for a fellow member of the Maniax, but every time he’s around her he finds himself falling harder and harder for her?

Fandom: Gotham

Pairing: Jerome x Reader

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elemeeple  asked:

Hi! This is Ava Jarvis. I'm in a rough state and need a little help/validation. Someone I know just emailed me: "You know, if the depression in your life is so bad, maybe you should consider suicide? It’s a valid solution just like any other." They say they respect my decision if I choose to commit suicide, and that maybe I should stop fighting the urge. I'm pretty sure they're wrong and I should block them. Indeed, I have blocked them, but I don't know if I'm doing the right thing.

The first time I wanted to die badly enough to do something about it, I was nine years old.  I would have missed my entire adult life.  The last time I wanted to die badly enough to do something about it, I was thirty-eighty years old, and the fact that I’d had twenty-nine years depression didn’t want me to have didn’t matter nearly as much as the thought that I could fix everything with a single slice.

Depression lies.

You are a story no one else can tell: you are a miracle.  Those things sound trite, but “trite” doesn’t mean “untrue.“  Someday, you’re going to die, and the world will be less for your absence, and no matter what may come next, you won’t be able to do anything else here.  No more sentences, no more sodas, no more Saturdays.  And those things are so important, and you are so important.

The person who told you to consider suicide sounds like they could use some help themselves, and I hope that they can get it.  I hope you can find whatever help you need.  I hope you can stay.  Please stay.  The world is better for having you in it.

Please talk to someone who is closer than I am, who can be physically there for you, and please stay.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Luck

We grow up in a culture that tells us that anything is possible and that we can become whatever we desire. The sky’s the limit. Professional sports players and movie stars and CEO’s tell disenfranchised people that if they work hard enough then they can become rich and famous just like them. All it takes is the desire; the motivation; the will. The problem with this line of thinking is that for every person out there who doesn’t make it as a big star — every person who fails at fulfilling their most fantastical life ambitions — is left feeling like it’s their own fault that things didn’t work out. In our culture we constantly have to ask ourselves, “If I always wanted to be rich and famous, and I was told that I could be if I tried hard enough, but I’m not rich and famous, then doesn’t that mean that something’s wrong with me?” The answer often leads one to think they are simply inadequate in some form or another: “I didn’t make it because I didn’t want it badly enough or because I wasn’t skilled enough or smart enough or pretty enough.” This is all irrelevant, however, if we factor in luck or privilege. These are the determining factors that separate the winners from the losers, not simply the drive or desire. Understanding this not only makes it easier to forgive ourselves for our missteps, but it also makes it easier to forgive others for theirs.

Hips

YAY!! Another one written out due to being held hostage in my own head!!

XD this goes out to the Anon that sent those wonderful pieces on thirstyforkimjongin‘s ask box!!

Literally I couldn’t get Kai to leave my head so I allowed him to come out!! and this is totally not to wreck the shit out of Gongju

Pairing: ReaderxKai

Word count: 1,810

Rating: Smut and stuff

GIF that inspired me: It was more of the anon that inspired me but the GIF that helped me was

WARNING NOW I DIDN’T PROOF READ IT LIKE I WAS SUPPOSE TO!! TOO LAZY AND I GOT MORE BIAS TAKING ME HOSTAGE IN MY HEAD!!

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