central-asia

So in Chinese culture, a pretty girl is a girl with straight, black hair, lily white skin, short height, slender figure, sparse body hair, round face, tall nose, thin eyebrows, and “smiling eyes” (big, round eyes that are a bit puffy along the lower lashline). I, for the most part, fit this criteria.

I was born with porcelain skin like my mother, but when I was around seven, I learned how to swim and swam often. Over the course of one summer, I turned from extremely pale to extremely tan (my third grade teacher thought I was Filipino). Currently, my skin is probably at least ten shades lighter than it was the summer before third grade. Before that summer, a majority of the conversations I had with my relatives would revolve around how pretty they found me. Then my relatives bullied me “for looking too black”. Whenever I tried to defend myself, my mother would tell me to “respect the elders!”

My little sister learned how to swim around the same time that I did, and also swam often when she was younger. Like myself, her skin became very tan but to this day, hasn’t gotten any lighter. I recall one day, I was at a Chinese amusement park with my mother and little sister. One Chinese man made fun of my little sister for being so tan and I reprimanded him (my little sister is a very shy person). My mom called me rude and forbade me from spending the day at the amusement park with them.

Beauty advertisements all over the world preach basically the same thing–and alienate everyone that doesn’t meet all of their absurd standards. My fellow asian brothers, sisters, and cousins (for those that identify as non-binary): don’t be ashamed for having asian features–YOU’RE NOT UGLY, SOCIETY IS UGLY.

If someone tells you that you’re lucky to have snow white skin, a slim body, straight hair, or big and round eyes; tell them that every asian has beautiful features and that the world would lose its beautiful diversity if everyone looked the same.

If someone tells you that your eyes are too small or that you shouldn’t smile or laugh because “you look too asian”, tell them “No one needs big eyes in order to see your prejudice”.

If someone calls you a “banana” (yellow on the outside, white on the inside) because you only speak English, tell them that it’s wrong to force someone to assimilate with a culture but then ostracize them for not being in touch with their heritage.

If someone tells you that you’re not a real asian because you’re not from northeast asia, tell them that their ignorance is nearly to completely unfathomable.

If someone says they “wanna bone your tight asian pussy”, tell them that they secretly only like narrow vaginas because they imply that his twig dick is bigger than it actually is.

If someone asks expects you to do an entire group project for them because your asian heritage guarantees an A+, tell them that they’re gonna work at McDonalds for the rest of their life is they keep that kind of work ethic.

If someone asks you to “prove” the fact that you’re asian because you’re mixed, tell them to stop acting like they’re so superior that they have the power to decided who is and isn’t asian.

If someone calls you “exotic” because you’re not from China, Japan, or Korea; tell them to fuck off.

http://mirabelletomusic.tumblr.com/

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Paintings of Aral Sea by Rafael Tevatrosovich Matevosyan

R.T.Matevosyan was born in 1924 in Samarkand. From 1930 to 1962 his family lived in Baku. In 1962 the participant of the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. R.T.Matevosyan making a creative trip to Karakalpakstan for the first time gets acquainted with the Aral Sea. In Muynak he gets acquainted with life of fishermen and for the first time lives with them in the sea on fishing seiners. Since that time he, getting acquainted with life and heavy work of fishermen and local residents, gets involved with the Aral tragedy. The huge creative part of the artist’s life is entirely devoted to the Aral tragedy and people living here. He lived and worked on fishing boats, slept in sailor’s bunk rooms. Wrote etudes of yet unknown places and at the same time held the first personal exhibitions on boats for the sea workers. Together with geologists he flied to the Ustyurt Plateau and islands surrounding the sea.

In 1967 this great artisan could see the beginning of the sea shrinking. He has illustrated it in his canvases “The Sea has left”, “The Vessel in sand” painted from life. And, thus, the new cycle of works with the pictures of perishing of the Aral begins with the following canvases: “The Moorage in sand”, “Laid up for eternity”, “Aground”, “Hope”. Unfortunately, up to this day all this history has remained only in R.T.Matevosyan’s canvases.

His works were exposed in many countries of the world and have been apprehended with the great enthusiasm. Today many young inhabitants do not know how the Aral Sea looked. Series of pictures by Matevosyan which is the only one in its kind and unique in the world narrates about transformation of the blue and rich Aral into the lifeless desert which is often called today as “The Aralkum”.

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i received these messages yesterday night. of course i was shocked to see such blatant racism, fetishization, and hate. im submitting this because maybe some other girls have gotten similar messages harassing them and may want to turn off the anonymous feature for awhile. i already blocked whoever sent this. if anyone wants to talk about it my url is thisbinch but make sure you are on private! weareallmixedup should also read this submission and maybe warn their followers.

mod note:

i’m so sorry you received this HORRIBLE message and thank you for letting us know. followers, please send thisbinch some love!! 

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“Accent” - Uyghurs and Nowruz (Noruz) celebrations

Accent is a show on Kazakh TV that shows the rich cultural diversity of the displaced national minorities which live on the territory of the Republic of Kazakhstan

For Uyghurs, Nowruz is a holiday for people to plant trees, dredge irrigation canals, clean houses and prepare scrumptious food for guests. The most important element of the festival is Noruz Porridge, which is believed to symbolize happiness, success, wisdom, health, wealth and blessings from the god.

The Uyghur minority started to settle in today’s Kazakh territory in the 19th century, following an agreement with the Tsarist empire granting them refuge from the Qing conquest of Dzungaria. Since then, the Uyghur community has been concentrated in the South Eastern regions of Kazakhstan, living mainly in ethnically homogeneous settlements. Many villages or towns inhabited by this minority, repeat the Uyghur names of the towns they left on the other side of the border. For instance, Dzharkent, situated near the border with China, or the villages around Almaty.

During the 20th century, new migration flows from Xinjiang increased the Uyghur presence again. Significant influxes occurred in 1949, after the fall of the short-lived Republic of East Turkestan, and again in 1962, when the political and ideological tensions between the Soviet Union and communist China were accompanied by an increase in oppression by the Chinese government over the Turkic minorities. As a result of repeated migratory flows and of Soviet politics, aimed at involving (at least on paper) all nationalities in the construction of the Soviet people, the Uyghurs, while never forgetting the dream of autonomy beyond the Kazakh, started to view Kazakhstan as a home state.

Uyghurs and the other minorities in Kazakhstan, live today in a sort of limbo. They can do business, study their native language and organize cultural events, provided they do not interfere with politics and accept limited freedom of thought and tight state control. This situation gives minorities the opportunity to survive as a community and enjoy stability, unlike in the neighbouring countries, but it does not grant them the status of full citizens. According to 1999 census, there are 210,400 Uyghurs in Kazakhstan.

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on Kurds of Kazakhstan

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Remembering the Kyrgyz Woman Who Adopted 150 Children During the Siege of Leningrad

“A legend”: this is how Kyrgyz and Russian media are referring to Toktogon Altybasarova, 91, who sheltered 150 children evacuated from Leningrad over the course of a two-and-a-half-year blockade during World War Two that cost up to a million lives.

In 1942, as Nazi Germany bombarded Russia’s second city, now called St. Petersburg, 16-year-old Altybasarova, who died last week on June 11, spared the evacuees from hunger and hosted them in a dormitory for local factory staff in her remote home village of Kurmenty, northeastern Kyrgyzstan.

She had just been elected head of her village council at the time.

Altybasarova determined the children’s age and gave them first names. Supervising a team of carers, she saw the children through to adulthood as they left to work and study in different parts of the Soviet Union.

According to Kyrgyzstan’s state broadcaster, Altybasarova kept and treasured letters from her adopted children until her death. 

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The Television Center in Almaty (Alma-Ata), Kazakhstan, 1996. The building was built during the Soviet Era and unfortunately lacks information about its architect and construction date. It was inspired by the historical cities of Central Asia, whose regional capital was Almaty. The design recalls the Persian muqarnas (complicated geometric niches and domes clad in tiles or mirror) of the mosques and madrasas of Registan, Bukhara, and Khiva. The style was adapted to the cityscape by using metal cladding and glass.

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Half Chinese, Half Generic White Bread.
I have a really weird last name. I’m not going to share it because of privacy, but it’s a terrible french translation of Wong. Everyone says my name wrong. My entire life, teachers, peers, and family members (on the white side,) have struggled with my last name, eventually just laughing or shaking their heads before saying “Whatever.” It had gotten to the point that I would go up to my teachers before roll call to tell them not to bother trying to say my last name. I don’t do that anymore. Problematic as it may be, Tumblr has taught me to stand up for myself and my heritage.
You know the horse-shit that creepy white men call “yellow fever?” My mother has a friend who, when I was seven, grabbed my stomach without permission and said to the room full of people, “You need to get rid of those love handles.” “LOVE handles?” I was only walking around, minding my own business, and he decided to fetishize me.
When I walk down the street with my hair down (I’ve grown it past my waist,) people always stop to ask me “Where are you from?” The first time this was asked, I thought they were asking if I was from the city and if I could give them directions to a shop. “Oh, I’m from here,” I replied innocently. The person blinked and paused for a second, then bit their lip. “Like,” they frowned, “Where were you born?” At this point I knew what was happening, but I decided to make them feel bad. “I was born in ———,” I said in a sugary-sweet voice. “Why do you ask?” The obnoxious white man frowned some more. “You look asian,” he says, dropping the (small amount of) politeness in his tone. “Where in Asia are you from?” I kept my smile on my face, raising my eyebrows and staring at him so he would realize how stupid and rude he sounded. I then shrugged, turning to walk away. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” I grinned, walking away down the busy city street. I could hear him calling me a bitch under his breath.
When I was a baby, I looked full Chinese. My white mother would push me around in my stroller in ——, and people would stop to ask her “Where did you get her?” Of course, I don’t remember, but I’m told she always replied snarkily (I guess I did get something from her.) Once, in a Chinese restaurant, a white woman came up to our table to stare at me. “Wow,” she said, blue eyes wide. “When did your kid learn how to use chopsticks?”
I still have some of my childhood crayon drawings. I remember one very clearly. It was supposed to be me, as a bride, walking down the aisle of a church. Except, it didn’t look like me– it looked like all the “pretty” girls at school. The person walking down the aisle had snow white skin, light golden hair, and huge blue eyes. I faintly remember drawing it, thinking to myself that this may not be what I looked like at the moment, but what I wanted to look like when I grew up. I had never really seen any other standards for beauty. My mother, bless her, never let me play with barbie dolls unless they had dark hair and eyes. That didn’t stop me from seeing other barbies and hearing people say they were beautiful. That didn’t stop me from seeing all the leggy white blondes on television and in magazines. I was so young. How could I have known there were beautiful people that looked like me?
I’m so sorry this is long. What you are doing on this page is amazing, and I applaud you. xoxo

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Paintings by an Uzbek artist, Saira Keltaeva.

Saira Keltaeva was born on 16 May 1961 in Kumyshkan, Tashkent region, Uzbek SSR. In 1979 Saira Keltaeva graduated from the National Music Art School, boarding arts class on easel painting, she was taught under the guidance of Art teacher A.P.Perova - national artist of Uzbekistan. The same year she entered Theatre and Art Institute in Tashkent. Saira Keltaeva is a member of the Creative Union of Artists at the Academy of Arts of Uzbekistan. Saira’s works are exhibited in museums and Art Galleries, as well as in private collections in Korea, China, Turkey, Germany, Holland, Italy, France and the United States.