“Please man, I beg you, don’t write about what I’m about to do,” says Colin Farrell, standing over an Apple laptop in his kitchen. It is 1.30am and we are approaching the end of an interview that has lasted the best part of half a day - one that has included a couple of hours with us both practically naked and smeared in honey in a Russian bathhouse, and enough revelations about drink, women and extreme drug abuse to make your hair stand on end, turn white and then fall out - so I am intrigued to know what is coming next. He opens his web browser and pulls up Google before carefully typing, one finger at a time, “Colin Farrell” into the search panel. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I was bored the other day and I looked up my name. Who am I kidding? I do it all the time. Anyway, I want to show you this photo.”
if Hamilton had come out during the Glee Era, this is what the episode basically would be
- Opening scene: ND in the classroom talking among themselves. Schue walks in wearing full period costume. Everyone is confused and a little ashamed. Schue tells them he’s discovered they’re all failing history, and one of them tells him history is just SO BORING.
- cut to a scene of somehow all the kids in the same class in various stages of unconsciousness while a Professor Binns type teacher drones on about the war of 1812.
- Schue assures them history is TOTALLY COOL, informs them about Hamilton, tries to white rap his way through either Guns and Ships or Yorktown. Santana makes that “why am I surrounded by white fools” face that she always makes. Hamilton is the assignment this week, even though COMPETITION looms in the future, but when have they ever actually practiced before the week of?
- Blaine has been super friendly with some guy from Dalton or from Hairgellers Anonymous or something, is constantly liking his posts on FB. Kurt sings “Burn” over a montage of Blaine ignoring him in ridiculous situations that no one would ever be on their phone during.
- Rachel has decided this week is one of the weeks where she’s aggressive about becoming a star, sings Satisfied.
- Tensions are getting high, so Artie flawlessly white boy raps through “What’d I Miss” while Mike dances, to lighten the mood.
- The kids are learning about Hamilton, but Schue is worried they’re not REALLY learning the point he’s trying to get at.
- Probably the Unholy Trinity sings “Schuyler Sisters”
- Schue walks back in on the kids excitedly talking about the show and/or history in general. Smiles that smile he smiles when he thinks he’s a good teacher. “See you guys? History is now. You’re the founding fathers. You’re the underdogs. Your time is coming, you just have to wait for it.”
- New Directions: YEAH!
- The group sings “Wait for It” in the auditorium either in full costume, or wearing just vaguely matching outfits. Finn takes lead, but Mercedes comes in on the middle solo.
- They all smile at each other at the end, while Schue makes that face again.
- Sue is in the background glowering that ND has managed to not fall apart yet again.
have you ever had to deal with any biphobia at a pride event?
Yeah. Nothing crazy though? but definitely the implication that i didn’t belong there. Side-Eyes, eyerolls, etc. Id rather not go into detail because it’s not important.
What was important was a moment I had with this older Bi man. I was decked out in Bi colors and had a shit ton of Bi colored beads on and he came up to me like “hey friend! can i have some!” we were about to walk the Parade for Pridelines - a really cool organization for LGBT youth - so everyone had signs that said “I have Pride because…” and they would fill it in. His said “I have Pride because I am Bisexual, I’m married, and I have HIV” so I get up and I was like “yeah man ofcourse!”
“thanks! it’s cool to see people being prideful about being Bi. Those colors are sparse this year” and i was like “Yeah, I’m sure there’s more but some of them feel like they can’t.” “Which is bullshit” “Right” “I want to thank you for being decked out. I clearly didn’t dress up in colors like I wanted to” he gestured to his white shirt and shorts and then continued “but I saw you and I suddenly felt ashamed for being so scared. How stupid is that? I’m 60, went through the AIDS epidemic, and scared over wearing Bi colors.” We chuckled a bit and I said “Hey man, that’s part of the reason why I did it. I was nervous too but I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t because other people need to see that not only we exist but that we belong” “Well Thank you for pushing through that and helping other Bis out here who see that and feel validated. You’re doing good things by being dressed up.” And we hugged it out for what seemed like forever.
That moment made my entire pride to the point where I even forgot I encountered petty biphobia here and there until you asked this ask.
It’s 2005 and I am 7, and my mom does my hair up in little braids with bright beads and barrettes that match my clothes. My teachers complain that they’re distracting. My mother tries to reason with them that braids are just about the only to manage my hair. They don’t care. The seed is sown.
It’s 2006 and I start getting my hair pressed. My Sundays are spent with aloe vera leaves pressed to the burns on my neck. I start to hate rain and develop a fear of heat tools that lasts to this day.
It’s 2008 and all the girls at school brush each other’s hair. Becky asks if she can brush mine. I want to fit in so I tell her yes. I want to disappear when she runs away yelling to the class that I have grease in my hair.
It’s 2008 when I ask my mom why my hair isn’t like the other girls’. She tells me it’s just how I am, and that my black hair is nothing to be ashamed of. I want to tell her she’s wrong.
It’s 2009 and I sit on the floor in my living room crying as the chemicals burn my scalp but I don’t move until twenty minutes have passed. After its been flat ironed it’s silky and straight - but it’s not straight or silky enough, not white girl straight. I touch the chemical burns on my scalp and wish I had left the perm on longer.
It’s 2010 and I’m three weeks late on my perm. That awful, bushy new growth is starting to grow under my perfect straight hair. I hate it. I think it’s ugly and dirty and I wish it’d just go away. I remind my mom to grab the extra strength relaxer.
It’s 2011 and I’m going through my scene phase. I want nothing more than to tease my hair and put it into backcombed pigtails and clip dream catchers into it. But I can’t. It bushes out at the slightest hint of moisture and tangled in the bat of an eye. I hate my hair in both its natural and treated forms.
It’s 2013 and my hair can’t take anymore. It’s damaged beyond repair and I’m forced to cut all thirteen inches off. I’m left with the natural hair I’ve hated my whole life. I cry for weeks.
It’s 2013 and my first healthy curl has appeared. I think it looks pretty. For Christmas I wish for more.
It’s 2015 and I have a fro as big and round as the sun. My curls frame my face like laurels. I put on my hoop earrings and love how I look.
It’s 2015 and I feel the need to reinvent myself. I cut it all off again, from twelve inches to three. I cry for days.
It’s 2016 and my curls are more defined than ever. My natural hair is my glory. I style them into a flat top or a coiff or whatever I feel like. I consider growing them out again.
Your hair journey will not always be pretty. It will not always be healthy. You will not remember all of it fondly. But no matter how rough or how long, it will always be worth it.
Hi, I’m a female Chinese adoptee who spent more time with a foster mother than in the orphanage. I was adopted before I was half a year old by a white American single mother, and later raised by two white American parents once she married. I have a younger sister who is also adopted from China, but we aren’t blood related at all (yes people do ask me if we are). I grew up in a largely white portion of the south and went to religious schools with largely white populations (My mom did not adopt me from some misguided Christian white supremacist stance of saving me). I’m currently getting a degree in theater and film, so well thought out representation and minority stories are very important to me. Every adoption story is different, and as far as I can find, you only have the one POC profile on Chinese adoption and I wanted to give my point of view for variation.
I want to preface this by saying that my adoption has had a big impact on my life, but it is not my identity, and the impact it’s had isn’t something that I was consciously thinking about as it happened. It’s mainly as I’ve gotten older and looked back that I’ve realized how it has impacted certain aspects of my life. Growing up, my adoption isn’t something that was always on my mind, and it’s only through trying to better understand myself and who I identify as that I’ve come to analyze it more. Also sorry this is super long, I just wanted to be thorough.
Again, not something I consciously thought about when I was younger. Contrary to the popular stereotypes and fixations about Asian eyes, the shape of my eyes wasn’t something I thought about. What I was self-conscious about when I was a kid was how “flat” my face was, especially my nose. I felt like I didn’t have any definition, and because I didn’t grow up seeing many other Asian people or POC for that matter, I didn’t understand that different races had different facial structures. I just internally accepted that the caucasian facial structure was how people were supposed to look. I’ve since accepted the way I look, and while I don’t think I’m the hottest chick out there, I like the way I look.
When I was young, my mother enrolled me in Mandarin Classes and Chinese Culture classes/camps designed for Chinese adoptees to help me connect to my native culture and to surround me with other people like me. At one point I was even enrolled in a Chinese Fan Dance class if I remember correctly. I’m sure I had fun with some of them, just as I’m sure my attention span was short when I was a kid and that I got bored quickly. I didn’t have a problem with them at the time, but looking back I do remember feeling mildly annoyed with going to the events specifically for adopted kids because if felt like people just assumed we’d be friends because off of us shared the adoptee experience. I get that same feeling of annoyance when people to this day tell me “Oh, so and so is adopted from China too! You’d like her,” because I personally resent the idea that people assume my adoption is my identity and that alone is enough for me to connect with someone.
I have always identified as a Chinese-American. My parents were always very honest with me about my adoption for as long as I can remember, so I was always somewhat aware that I was different. That being said, growing up surrounded by white people meant that the people I identified with where white, and there was a time in middle school where a teacher mentioned something about me being different in regards to my race (we were talking about casting for the school play). For a good 5 minutes I was confused about what she meant until I remembered that I was Chinese and not white like everyone else. That’s a moment that’s stuck with me throughout my life and I’ve always been a little ashamed of forgetting myself.
Recently I was asked if I identify as an immigrant, and I didn’t know how to answer. Technically I am one. At one point I had a green card and my mother had to fill out paperwork to make me a US citizen, so I don’t feel like I wasn’t an immigrant, but I also don’t identify with the typical image of immigrants. My story of finding my place in America isn’t the typical story of POC immigrants so I don’t necessarily feel solidarity with them.
Within Asian Americans’, there’s been a stereotype about them being too Asian, but not Asian enough which is something I’ve also struggled with on both sides. In high school when I mispronounced pho, I was accused of being a “bad Asian” by a white friend, but when I was talking diversity politics with a teacher, my point of view was dismissed because she knew I was adopted so I was “basically white anyway.” While I do try to defer to the point of view of Asian immigrants and descendants of immigrants when it comes to certain topics and experiences, I also think it’s important for people to understand that when I interact with the majority of people, I am treated as an Asian woman. I live life as an Asian woman, not a white woman. Alternatively, because I grew up in such a white area, I admit that I grew up with a lot of internalized racism and have found myself judging mixed race Asians for the same thing from time to time though I am actively trying to unlearn that habit.
Honestly, as I get older and try to understand who I am more, the more confused I get over my identity. It’s still something I’m working to understand.
Outside of the Mandarin classes I went to briefly as a kid, I also took 3 semesters of Mandarin in college to fulfill my language requirement. I did actively choose to take Mandarin because I thought it was important for me to learn, not because of my culture, but because as an aspiring Chinese American actress, many breakdowns for roles require a knowledge of fluent Mandarin. I am not fluent. I fulfilled my requirement and haven’t pursued it any further as of yet. I might try again in the future.
Since turning roughly 18, whenever I go places with my parents, we’re typically asked if we want to split the check, but if my younger sister is with us, no one asks. I don’t know if it qualifies as a struggle, but it’s something I’ve noticed that biological parents and children don’t go through as much. I’ve also come to explain that I’m adopted when I’m talking about my childhood or my past. I do it partially to give context to whatever story I’m about to tell or for whatever I’m explaining. Ex: I’ve had to explain my background during a workshop when I wrote a paper on representation in media for Asian Americans because the people reading the paper didn’t know I was Asian American simply from the context of the personal experiences I presented in the paper and were guessing my race off of my white sounding name. I’ve also had to explain my background when another Asian American commented repeatedly that I “sound so white.” I’m also very open about the fact that I’m adopted if people ask because it’s not something I’m ashamed of, and I want to normalize the idea of adoption.
When I was only a couple years old there was a girl who made fun of me for being adopted. It’s one of my mom’s favorite stories, because rather than letting the girl get to me, I said something snarky in return, but I’m assuming that’s why I try to normalize the idea of adoption, because being adopted doesn’t make me any less of a person than someone who is still with their biological parents.
I also witnessed a lot of the Asian eye jokes, but curiously enough they were never directed at me. I guess that says something about the kind of environment I lived in, because when I said something to a boy drawing an “Asian smiley face” he looked stunned and was surprised that I was Asian. I guess this instance doesn’t have as much to do with adoption but is more of a comment on the stereotype about how Asians are supposed to look distorting the fact that we actually look like regular human beings and not caricatures.
Dating and Relationships and Home/Family Life/Friendships
I’m putting these two in the same category because my abandonment issues have had a similar impact on them. As a kid, I always hated leaving when we were visiting my out of state grandmother or whenever my mom would go on a work trip. I would cry and fuss, and even as an adult, I hate saying goodbye for a long period of time. Intellectually, I know I’ll see these people again, but emotionally I worry about what if? I also get really scared and start tearing up if my parents are late coming to pick me up from the airport when I come to visit. I worry about being left alone. And I want to emphasize that this isn’t a conscious, “Oh, I’m adopted, I’m worried I’m going to be abandoned again” type thing. So much of these feelings are internalized and subconscious. It’s just that fear of never seeing someone you care about again, and even though I’m a logical person who knows that they’re just late, I can’t override that fear.
I have never had a romantic relationship and I have a few close friends, but I’m not the life of the party. I’ve always been careful about forming connections with people and have even actively resisted it when I was younger and was going to camps or doing something where I’d only see these people for a small amount of time. I had the mentality of “It’s not worth it because I’ll never see them again,” and that’s another thing I’m trying to overcome, because I still don’t like making connections if I know they’re not going to last. For similar reasons, I’m also very bad at vocalizing my affections and feelings towards people. I’ve never liked letting people close, and there was a time when I was a teen where I even distanced myself from my family, and that’s a bridge I’m still trying to repair to this day.
My family has always been understanding of the fact that I’m dealing with a lot when it comes to understanding my adoption and my identity, but there are also some things that they don’t understand and it can be hard to talk to them about things like my cultural identity and growing up around tons of micro-aggressions that they’ve never had to deal with.
The idea of who my real parents are. The idea of one set of parents being more valid than the other just seems fucked up to me, especially when it’s been posed to me as “So if they tell you to do something, do you ever just say, ‘No, you’re not my real parents, you can’t tell me what to do.’” My adopted parents are still my parents. I also think of my biological parents as my parents. I have never hated or resented my biological parents for giving me up nor have I ever used my adoptee status as an excuse to act out towards my adopted parents. While I do know about the One Child Policy, I don’t know the specific circumstances surrounding why I was given up for adoption. I don’t see the point in being angry about it without knowing the whole story, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I may never know the whole story.
I also don’t feel particularly grateful towards my adopted parents or like I owe them anything for adopting me. Don’t get me wrong, I still love them, but I’m not actively trying to repay them for adopting me. I don’t owe them my life, they’re just my family.
I had a lot of self-esteem issues growing up, and they still persist today. They aren’t something I linked back to my abandonment issues until I sat down and talked to a therapist. I’ve always been a perfectionist to the point where I was never happy with anything I did, unless it was perfect. I literally never felt good enough. Part of the reason I distanced myself from my family is because I didn’t want to be a bother. Intellectually I knew I wasn’t going to be abandoned again, but I still felt like I had to be as good as I could possibly be to make sure. This is another one of those things that was never consciously thought about, it’s just how things were. I didn’t feel like I or whatever issues I was having was worth the trouble of bothering people, especially my parents, so I just didn’t, and had a habit of keeping a lot of things bottled up inside without telling anyone*. It’s another thing I’m also currently working to better my perception of myself.
*Just because I was trying to be a good kid and didn’t vocalize affection much does not act as an excuse for writing a submissive, emotionally stunted stereotype of a Chinese Adoptee. I am also snarky and sarcastic and opinionated and outgoing with my friends.
Things I’d like to see less of
Stop using adoptees in the abortion argument in general, especially if you don’t understand the adoption process or the issues adoptees face. Stop asking me to choose who my real parents are. It also bothers me the way people romanticize adoption, even if it’s people in various fandoms goofing around. People who adopt are not saints. Fandoms who make light of adoption and squee about wanting to adopt a character or wanting one character to adopt another makes light of a whole situation. Adoption is a great thing. It’s great for kids without families to get a family, but it’s also a painful thing for the kid, because a kid needing to be adopted means that they’ve also lost a family at a young age. Please be sensitive of that. Don’t romanticize adoption. People trying to empathize with those internalized feelings of abandonment and mistrust when they don’t have the same or similar experiences. Other people are allowed to feel those things, but please understand that the degree of what we feel is immense. From a personal perspective, when people try to do that, it feels like they’re making light of what I feel.
Things I’d like to see more of
Just normalizing the idea of adoption and understanding the good and the bad. Adoption stories in media that don’t hinge on the angsty, rebellious adoptee being angry at their adoptive parents. Stories that give adoptees identities outside of their being adopted. Understand that all adoptees are not the same. We all have different experiences based on race, religion, the region we’ve been adopted into, the kind of parents we have. There are so many variables that make up who we are.
I know I’ve talked about this before but I’m going to talk about it more because fuck this shit.
Pocahontas (the Disney movie) has received well deserved flack, but I almost never hear about one way it really affected me growing up: It taught me how natives are ‘supposed’ to look. It came out the year before I started kindergarten so the hype was still pretty fresh. Picture this
I’m the girl on the right. The girl on the left was my friend Ashton.
Of course there came a day when we had a ‘dress up as pilgrims and indians’ day at school. My family couldn’t afford to get me an ‘indian costume and I wouldn’t have my own regalia for another four years*, but Ashton was from a better off family and she, along with many, many others showed up at school wearing Pocahontas merch.
And little five year old me couldn’t quite understand what I was feeling. See, the popular idea of native peoples has us looking like this:
Know what Osage (and other plains people) wear to powwows?
This did not add up in my mind.
The ‘good’ natives wore simple buckskin. The popular girls dressed up as these good natives. But when I thought about what I’d seen at powwows I started to feel like this was Pocahontas:
And this was Osage
If you get what I mean. I’m trying to give voice to a 5 year olds feelings, cut me some slack.
I saw my own culture as tacky and over the top and I learned to become embarrassed by it, even ashamed of it. I spent years feeling like this. Like my culture was the gaudy aunt with 500 cats compared to ‘REAL’ natives. I also was very confused at why a blonde white girl was considered more ‘indian’ than me by our classmates because she wore a fake buckskin dress and I remember sitting in my pink sweats wanting to scream ‘but I really AM native!’ but since I wore pink sweats I honestly thought no one would believe me so I stayed silent.
Eventually I unlearned this. But it wasn’t as six. Or seven. Or seventeen. It was at twenty-four.
THAT’S how deep this shit runs.
I was speaking with fellow plains native @stalkershandbook one night and she remarked that natives are like magpies; we take ribbons and sparkles and beads and paint and we make it work. Our regalia is BEAUTIFUL. It’s taken me so fucking long to appreciate it. I hope you do too.
* this is the regalia I got at 9, the dress made by my grandmother
Notes: trigger warnings! Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, swearing, injuries, memory loss, recuperating, fluff, angst, smut.
A/N: Part four! Bucky goes to see Banner and finds out more about his past with Y/N, while they find out about that something in his head.
Oh, and things get sexy.
Banner is nice enough. He keeps calling me James, though, and it’s a little confusing. Everyone here keeps calling me Bucky, and getting used to that one name was tough enough as it is. Now that I remember.. some difficult times, it’s a little exhausting to remind myself to answer to ‘James’ as well.
But he’s nice and lets me know what everything he’s using is for, so I decide to keep my trap shut and just roll with it. They’re trying to help me, after all. See how long it’ll take before I regain all of my memories, and I can’t wait for that to finally fucking happen.
A voice from the ceiling startles the living shit out of me when Doctor Banner asks some one called Friday what my brain-scan tells her.
I have never worried that my name was “too ethnic” on a resume.
I have never been asked to speak for my entire race.
If I behave poorly, it is not attributed to my ethnic background.
My identity as a Canadian is never questioned.
I am never told to come back where I came from.
I am never asked to denounce or answer for the crimes of other white people.
People are never surprised to learn that I went to a good university.
No one dismisses my achievements as “affirmative action”.
When people protest immigrants, they are not protesting immigrants that look like me.
I grew up seeing people who looked like me in leading roles on television and in the movies.
It is easy for me to find books about people who look like me.
I have never been made to feel that I must bleach my skin to feel beautiful.
I have never been made to feel that my natural hair is something to be ashamed of.
I do not see graphic images of white corpses on the news.
People do not use euphemisms to refer to my race.
My history was taught in public school.
I have never been the only member of my race in a classroom.
If I am ever murdered or go missing, I know that it will make the national news.
I am not made to feel unwelcome in expensive or “high-class” establishments.
If I commit a crime, it will be seen as my failing, and not a failing of my race.
People never assume I am lying about my credentials.
My natural facial features are prized by the beauty and entertainment industries.
If I tell people I have an advanced degree, they will probably believe me.
It is not socially acceptable for politicians to bash my race on television.
My opinions are valued.
Unarmed people of my skin color tend to survive encounters with police.
If I choose to speak my ancestral language or eat my ancestral foods, I will not be accused to being “un-Canadian”.
To be clear, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed of being white; there’s nothing wrong with it, and none of us chooses our skin colour. But I’m aware of how many advantages I’ve been given in this life that others do not have. And whenever I can, I try to break down white privilege, and help people from more marginalized groups succeed. Whether it’s as simple as educating a racist family member or as complicated as a lifelong career in social services, I will always do my best to be aware of my own privilege, and lift up the voices of others.
Imagine looking after Ghost whilst he’s missing and when Jon discovers it was you who took care of him, the two of you bond.
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
\ Request from anonymous /
could you do a Jon Snow imagine where the reader is introduced to Jon after Ghost’s disappearance (you know how Ghost was missing until the 5th episode of season 4)? so maybe she had been taking care of Ghost that whole while and he became attached to her, which is why Jon and the reader form a bond :p TY! idk if that made sense, I hope it did lol
Honestly, some days, yes. maybe not so much ashamed as I am apologetic that my privilege exists on a level that it does; that people with my skin colour ignore it, that racism still exists and that we’re most often the ones keeping it alive. I’m ashamed that white people built countries on the backs of immigrants and Africans and so many others, and that we turn a blind eye to the repercussions it has had on those communities. Im ashamed that slavery was only abolished within the last 100 years, yet we act like it never happened. I’m ashamed that the majority of them voted for a man that was endorsed by the KKK in America, and that an “alt-right” aka neo-nazi group is now at the forefront of politics, and I’m sorry that white people call them the “alt-right” to minimize their racism and misogyny. I’m ashamed that we’ve exploited aboriginals. I’m ashamed that we’ve ethnically cleansed. I’m ashamed that we’ve created beauty standards for the world on a template based off white features. I’m ashamed that so many of us think racism is no longer an issue. I’m ashamed of the racist institutions we’ve created, like american justice systems which disproportionately incarcerate African Americans. I’m ashamed of a lot that my ancestors did, and I’m ashamed of a lot of the things I see white people do now, which is why I do my best everyday to stand up for minorities and refuse to tolerate or normalize racism, even in implicit circumstances. I don’t care if you’re a friend, or a family member, or a stranger - i will call you out on your ignorance.
I’ve seen people say “The Doctor has always been a role model for me, because I am male, and he is too, and women can not be role models, especially not if they are feminist, this is all the fault of our feminazi society.”
Let me tell you one thing, the Doctor would be ashamed of some blatantly sexist white boy calling them a role model. I advise you to start rewatching from the beginning, and take notes this time.
I am a white-passing mixed white/native nonbinary individual living in Indiana, USA. I am bisexual and nonbinary. My mother is Eastern Cherokee and white mixed, and my father is white. There are three main federally recognized Cherokee tribes: the Cherokee Nation, the Eastern Band, and the United Keetoowah Band. We are Eastern.
Daily struggles: Being white passing, people don’t normally know that I’m mixed unless I tell them – and then they don’t believe me when I say so. I feel insecure about reclaiming any part of my culture, due to my white-passing-ness. Cultural appropriation is abundant in America, and it sucks.
Food: My dad is the cook in the house, so what we eat is mostly influenced by him. But I will say that Native Americans are largely lactose intolerant. It’s a thing. My mom and little sister don’t drink milk, and I’m lactose intolerant too but I drink it anyway.
Holidays: We celebrate Christian/American holidays, for the most part. Yes, even Thanksgiving. We celebrate it at my Cherokee grandma’s house. She has a figurine of a stomp dancer placed in the dining room, and every Thanksgiving she replaces it with a statue of two white pilgrims. I don’t think the white side of my family notices.
My grandma has all of our heirlooms, papers, and family history concerning our Nativeness kept away somewhere. “Upstairs in a box somewhere” is her verbatim, I think. She’s ashamed of our history, and what we’ve been through, and therefore has never shared anything with us, good or bad. This is cultural assimilation still at work. I am angry that I’ll never know what my family house was; that I had to Google what “tsalagi” means; that slowly, my family history will die out, and it’s not even my grandma’s fault. I understand her.
My mother is abusive. This is hard to process, because on the one hand, she’s awful to me; but on the other hand, I have a strong desire to connect with my culture and my heritage, and one of the only ways I know how to do this is through her.
Identity issues: I have considered using the term two-spirit as an identifier for my gender, since I don’t identify strongly with any other term, and it helps me connect with my heritage. However, since I am white-passing, I feel like I don’t deserve this title, and therefore I don’t identify with it.
I also usually don’t use the term “POC” for myself. I’m blonde, for fuck’s sake. I usually just say “mixed” or “part native american” when identifying myself.
I have been lucky enough to not have received hate on this blog. It was a miracle honestly, that so many nice people cared enough to keep their hate to themselves.
I received an ask in my inbox today, which I promptly deleted. It went somewhere along the lines of this:
“You don’t deserve to have this blog. You’re white and a racist homophobic bitch and you should just delete your blog and kill yourself”.
Let me put a few things together here.
1. I am a white American
2. I am a heterosexual
3. I am also a religious person
But these three things automatically make me a “racist homophobic bitch”? They don’t. Because this world is full of so many people who are like me, but are not. Because they do terrible, horrifying things that make me ashamed to be all three of those things.
I am not homophobic. Because I don’t like girls in a romantic way doesn’t automatically make me homophobic. I have so many friends who are gay, lesbians, bisexual, transgender, etc. And I am amazed every day by their courage. I love them and I love all of you.
I am not racist. I’m about to admit a very deep part of my life I don’t like to tell people about. But what the hell, strap in kids. I was raised in a racist household. My grandfather is racist, my father was racist. I was told horrible things about darker skinned people I wish I could forget. But after my dad left, my mom taught me the truth: we’re all the same. Just different pigmentation of the skin. We are all the same. I’ve made so many fantastic friends because I could disregard all of the things my father planted in my head and listen to my mom’s voice instead. I am not racist and I never will hate someone because of their skin.
I am an Anabaptist Mennonite. I believe there is a God and His son Jesus died for my sins. Do I need to explain myself further? I have a belief and I think it’s true. That’s it. Doesn’t change the above two paragraphs.
I hope you took time to read this. People are sick, we’re all sick in some way. It’s the way we treat the sickness that counts. Please love each other. Accept each other. Acknowledge each other. We all need each other more than ever. And I hope that that hating anon reads this.
i grew up
in a whitewashed country
with whitewashed children
with their minds wired
to make racist comments
they tell me
the stereotypes laid out for me
(you’re a model minority, they say)
and the bullshit they spew in my face
but they also tell me
my eyes are too small
and they grab their eyes
and slant them upward
while mocking my language
can i even call it that?
i can barely speak it
i am an imposter, a fake
they ask me where im from
and i dont know what to say
(i was raised in an orphanage
for the first two years of my life)
(i am from america)
(i am from china)
(i am from nowhere)
they reduce this beautiful language
to sounds and ching-chongs
and they ask me if i eat cats
(she’ll eat your dog, too)
they tell me all chinese people have bad teeth
and the one language they know about
is nothing but sounds
(i wish i could swallow my hatred
but i can only let it spill out)
dont they know?
there are tones
characters are not symbols
simplified vs traditional
it is mandarin chinese
there are hundreds of dialects
this language is beautiful
(i fell in love with it
i cannot speak it well
i am ashamed)
but america lets its children
turn it into sounds and jokes and
songs mocking the language
they don’t know anything about
they laugh at me
for telling them to stop
(the asian can talk)
(the asian isn’t submissive after all)
(aren’t asians socially awkward?)
they sexualize the women
(asian girls are hot)
and desexualize the men
(asian men have small penises)
why am i so terrified
of white men looking at me?
i am nothing i am no one i am sick of being sexualized
why am i a part of your asian fetish daydreams?
they turn my culture
into aesthetics and anime
and into fashion styles
they pronounce the cities wrong
open fortune cookies and congratulate
themselves for using chopsticks
they call me their token asian friend
every a+ i get
its because of my black hair
and my small eyes
and the country i was born in
(all asians are smart)
they look at the words
“made in china”
and crack a joke
about my country
i grind my teeth
they ask me
to speak the language
the beautiful language that they mock
and i want to say
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU
but i am quiet (not because i am chinese)
and i keep my mouth shut (because i will be laughed at, because i am chinese)
i am asked
where am i ACTUALLY from
and i want to scream
NOWHERE NOTHING NO ONE
because no one
they tell me
there is no such thing
as discrimination / prejudice / racism
against asians because
our usual stereotypes are positive
we are smart
we are successful
we are good at math
these words dont make me feel
and i was never good at math anyway
these words make me want to
crush their insults in my fists
they tell me to appreciate this
but i can only hate it
and keep myself silent
because no one cares
it’s just a joke, of course
one day i will learn to love the things they laugh at / j.m (via ghaffas)
No offence but why do we care about what middle-aged white men think of Harry? It’s not because they suddenly admit to liking Harry that Harry’s credibility has gone up or something.
Also I don’t get why we are celebrating the “I wasn’t a 1D fan but…”/”I am ashamed to admit that…” tweets? These people looked down upon us and One Direction in the past and only now that they have gotten more exposure when it comes to Harry, they suddenly like it. Well guess what, Robert, go listen to some 1D albums and you’ll find many songs similar to what Harry is doing right now. You would have liked 1D but you just never gave them a chance because of the ‘boyband’ status. You never gave them a chance because their fanbase consisted mostly of young females. There is no shame in liking One Direction, ffs. But if you think that way, I’d rather not hear your opinion on 1D or Harry.
If I was to wear a kimono into class one day in high school I would have been told to “go back to China, you chink” even though I’m not even Chinese. While if a non person of color did, they would be praised for their “unique” style choices. Up until very recently I stayed away from anything obviously connected to my race because when I was younger I was severely bullied about being Asian. I can’t speak Japanese, I can’t make traditional dishes by heart, I never wanted to wear kimonos or embrace my culture at all. Today I’m very disconnected from my culture, as well as the other cultures I was born into but do not look like I obviously belong to. I regret letting kids saying mean racist things to me keep me away from who I am. But now many of those things I was taught to be ashamed of are now trendy and popular. Culture appropriation is an issue because non poc can cherry pick the “beautiful and inspiring” parts about my cultures but I will be shamed and made fun of if I did the same thing.
I think people are dramatically over-critical of Halsey. I’m not even a fan and it seems like no one has ever let her breathe? For people who claim to be against bringing down people for their mental illnesses, sexuality, race ect.. It’s so hypocritical to drag her down and make fun of someone who is honest about being bisexual and bipolar. I think it’s better to have someone open about it? Plus the whole “copying Lana” thing was so blown out of proportion. Halsey has never sounded even remotely like Lana. Who cares if she was a fan? They are entirely different genres & styles.
It seems she gets nitpicked for absolutely everything and has to candycoat and extremely carefully pick every single word or the internet rips her to shreds? People even have gone after her for appropriating black culture.. when she’s half black? She had some stupid disrespectful tweets she posted 6 years ago when she was a teen but like.. if most of us were famous and looked back many years into our social media.. we’d probably have something fucking stupid too?
Back when I was in high school I was NOT socially aware. I wasn’t “woke” about much of anything. I supported LGBTQ & had no tolerance for people being racist against black people but I had no idea about cultural appropriation or that it was disrespectful. I hadn’t informed myself on fat-shaming or other things that are inherently racist. When I was a teenager I sometimes made fun of people among my friends just like all the other kids around me. Of course now I know a LOT better and am ashamed of all of the things I thought were funny and okay enough to say because everyone around me did/ said the same things and it was accepted.
With the whole Quavo thing.. she didn’t know he was homophobic before she collaborated with him, she doesn’t want to pursue a friendship or anything with him. She basically said he isn’t well informed/ woke AND that his apology was bs. I think she literally just tried to say she doesn’t agree with him but she wasn’t going to start a fued. But coming for Igloo Azealia? Literally Iggy is 100% white and rapped about being a SLAVE MASTER. Iggy’s whole career is appropriation. Plus her tweets are a straight up racist.
People have been hating Iggy for years.. and are only standing up for her because they want to bring Halsey down more because it’s been a trend to bring her down for her whole career but as far as I can see she hasn’t done anything that harmful and has tried to be an informed and considerate. Halsey seems like a genuinely concerned person and like she’s trying her best. She doesn’t come across as some total asshole who deserves to be #over. Basically everyone was ready for Iggy to be over. Yes Halsey kissed underage fans.. but like so does Lana? You think all of the those kisses Lana has shared are all 18+? It isn’t sexual or predatory if a fan begs for a kiss?