international mix


women in figure skating who inspire me ♥ – international women’s day, march 8th

mao asada - symbol of her nation, experienced the highest highs and lowest lows, rises and falls and rises again, she may bend but she will never, ever break; akiko suzuki - overcame an eating disorder and fought her way back to the top, a speaker for women’s health, radiates pure joy and love of skating; yuna kim - trailblazer, shouldered a country’s expectations and did not crack, returned so her compatriots could reach their olympic dreams, ambassador and activist; ashley wagner - the almost-girl-turned-queen, faces challenges head-on and doesn’t take shit from anyone; mirai nagasu - the child star who fell from grace but refused to let that be her story, the young woman who grabbed life by the reins and writes her own destiny; michelle kwan - the eternal champion, a model of grace, faced disappointments and triumphs with dignity and class; carolina kostner - living proof that you only get better with age; wenjing sui - stares down the impossible, lets nothing, not even injuries, stand in her way, loves what she does with every fiber of her being

Mixed Black African Girl (Cameroonian/French)

I’m a mixed black african girl who grew up and lived most of her life in Cameroon, in Central Africa. My dad is half-white (french) and half-black (cameroonian), and my mom is 100% cameroonian. There’s little to no black african characters in popular fiction, which has always bothered me, and it would be so nice to read about someone like me for once.

  • Culture and food

Cameroon is a country created during colonization, with borders defined by europeans. Because of that, Cameroon is actually made of 200 ethnic groups, each of them having their own language and culture. So the culture and daily habits vary a lot depending on which region of Cameroon you are in. In the big cities, though, everyone is mingled no matter where they’re from. However, so many different ethnic groups cohabiting together often causes tension. There are also a lot of stereotypes about every ethnic group.

I grew up in the central and coastal areas of the country, and I’m Bassa. The Bassa are one of the main ethnic groups in Cameroon. If your parents are from two different ethnic groups, it is decided that you officially belong to your father’s ethnic group. My mother is Bakoko but my father is Bassa, so I’m the latter. When I meet another Cameroonian, two of the first questions we usually ask each other are : What are you (meaning, what’s your ethnic group) ? and Where is you village ?

Villages are very important in the Cameroonian culture. Your village is where your father’s ancestors were born. Even if you’re not born there, you usually have grandparents or great-uncles or family friends living there, and if you have enough money to do so you must regularly visit your village. And usually, when people earn enough money, they send money to their village so that people living there can have a better life, build more houses and schools etc.

Cameroonian food is very diverse, and varies depending on the region. The national dish is Ndolé, a dish made with ndolé leaves, stewed nuts, and meat (fish, beef or shrimps). Other common foods are bobolo and miondo (food made out of fermented manioc), soya (spicy grilled meat on skewers), and plantain. My dad is half-french though, so at home we eat almost as much french food as cameroonian food (crème brûlée, shepherd’s pie, beef bourguignon, A LOT of bread and cheese).

  • Language

There are hundreds of different languages, but the official languages are French and English. Cameroon was colonized by France and England so Northern Cameroon mainly speaks english and central/southern Cameroon mainly speaks french. Most people also speak their ethnic group’s language. I don’t know how to speak Bassa, though, because neither do my parents. When me and my siblings were kids, our dad asked our baby-sitter to teach us, but she could only do so much and I only remember a few words.

  • Beauty Standards

Like most countries, there is a lot of colorism in Cameroon based on European beauty standards. When you’re a woman, the lighter you are, the prettier and more desirable you are considered. Dark skinned women are often mocked and considered not as pretty. A lot of people, mainly women but also men, use dangerous products to lighten their skin. Internalized racism and white beauty standards are very insidious, and a lot of people want to look like white people, including me when I was younger. As a kid I remember wishing i was a pretty blonde-haired blue-eyed white girl like the heroines of the books i was reading. Growing up I stopped wishing that, but I relaxed and straightened my hair a lot, wanting to have long straight hair without realizing that it was still an attempt to look like the ideal version of a white girl. I’m sure that if I had more black female characters to relate to when I was growing up, I wouldn’t have spend so many years hating myself without even realizing I was doing it.

Also, Cameroonians usually consider thick, curvy women to be the ideal beauty standard. But being thin is still an ideal broadcast by the media (especially that american and european media are heavily broadcast and consumed in Cameroon) so most women still diet a lot and go to the gym to lose weight.

  • Clothing

Women wear a lot of skirts and dresses, be it casual or for work. Most cameroonian schools have uniforms and mandatory hairstyles (either cornrows or short shaved hair).

Elderly people often wear more traditional clothes and outfits. The most prominent traditional item of clothing is the Kaba. The Kaba is a long dress made of wax fabric and other materials and is owned by pretty much every woman. The dress looks different depending on the situation : the Kaba you wear when you stay at home is usually very long and very loose, the Kaba you wear during official/formal events is more tight-fitting and stylized, etc.

  • Dating and Relationships

I’ve never dated anyone, but when I was in high school none of my friends ever told their parents they were seeing someone. Having your parents know about and meet the person you’re dating after only a few weeks or months is something that just doesn’t happen (unless someone gets pregnant). It’s when things get serious that you introduce them to your family. Also, a lot of parents would prefer their children to marry someone from the same ethnic group.

Homosexuality is still illegal there, and you can go to jail for being gay.

  • Home/Family life

My parents are still happily married, and I have 3 siblings. My parents are both close to their siblings, and I’m close to mine. Me and my siblings grew up with our cousins, we were always at each other’s houses. I pretty much consider most of my cousins as extra siblings. We have a very big extended family and every day I discover new distant cousins, aunts, great-uncles etc. My dad being half-french, when I was growing up we sometimes went to France during summer to visit his relatives living there.

In Cameroon, most people who have enough money to do so send their children to study abroad once they’ve graduated high school. I’m currently living in France for my studies, and most of my high school friends are also going to college in France, England, Canada, Brussels, South Africa etc.

  • Identity issues

Despite being only ¼ white, I’m very light-skinned. My siblings being much darker skinned, when I was a kid I thought I was adopted (i’m not, it’s just genetics). Cameroon being a black country, when someone is visibly mixed and light-skinned as i am, most people just label them “white”. A lot of people would refer to me as “the white” and it always really hurt me. My family wouldn’t understand why i was so angry and hurt, they’d say “they don’t mean anything by it, it’s just that you’re light” but the fact is it made me feel like i don’t belong. I’m cameroonian, i’ve lived in Cameroon almost my entire life, i’m black, and still some people see me as “other”, they see me as white. And so for a long time, I didn’t dare to call myself black, I’d say “I’m biracial” or “I’m mixed” instead because I somehow felt like a fraud. But I’m black and not white-passing at all, and I still experience racism abroad (but I’m aware I have a lot more privilege than dark skinned people).

  • Daily struggles

So I’m currently living in France. On one hand, sometimes white people are racist toward me, or just totally obnoxious and ignorant, trying to touch my natural hair and thinking that people in Cameroon don’t have computers or whatever. On the other hand, when I randomly meet other cameroonians and we start talking, they always assume that because i’m mixed i’ve lived my entire life in France and i don’t know anything about Cameroon. And there’s nothing wrong with being a child of immigrants and not knowing the country your parents or grandparents came from, but i know that if i wasn’t visibly mixed they wouldn’t question the fact that i know Cameroon and lived there my entire life.

  • Misconceptions

Because of how the media depict African countries, a lot of people think that everyone in Africa is extremely poor and starving, that we don’t have electricity and internet and that everyone lives in huts. Which is so false. We have rich people and poor people, we have huge modern cities and regular cities and small villages with huts, almost everyone has access to a tv and internet, etc.

  • Things I’d like to see less of

Cameroon and other african countries being depicted as poor unfortunate countries where everyone is starving and illiterate and waiting for the generous white people to save us. What we need is for people to see us as the humans we are, and to allow us to grow in peace.

  • Things I’d like to see more of

Black african characters being written as the complex human beings we are. Shy black african characters. Nerdy and hella smart black african characters. Mixed black african characters who struggle with their identity. LGBTQ black african characters.

  • Tropes/Stereotypes I’m tired of seeing.

The “savage”, “uncivilized” african. African characters who are aggressive, dumb and shout all the time. The poor africans in need of saving by white people.

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

i really love it when mixed race actors play characters who acknowledge they’re mixed (even if they have physical traits that don’t make their heritage obvious) like i love in parks and rec that april speaks spanish and talks about being puerto rican, i love how rainbow in blackish struggles with her biracial identity, i love how koen in cleverman feels disconnected from his people because his mother is white and vanessa hudgens’ character in powerless is also half Filipino - i love that this is happening more and more because growing up as mixed, so often you see mixed people in media and they’re portrayed as one or the other and its so important we create media that doesn’t encourage internalized racism and encourages mixed kids to accept their identities are both whole and multifaceted i just hope we see more mixed representation for mixed poc as well as poc mixed with white 


Happy International Women’s Day! - March 8th


Opre Roma!!!

There were (and are) precious few depictions of Romani women that don’t fall back on negative and harmful stereotypes. We are not allowed to be human- instead we’re told that all we are is fortune-tellers, thieves, and exotic dancers.

Spoiler: We’re not.

Esmeralda & Notre-Dame de Paris are undoubtedly problematic portrayals. But- as a child- it was all I had. Here was a character who looks like me. Here was a character who seemed comfortable in her identity and fought for what was right. She’s stuck with me for a reason. I explore her character for a reason.

Happy International Romani Day. May our generation create characters who aren’t caricatures.

Opre Roma!

{ Feel free to reblog. Our culture is worthy of pride and celebration}
Developed emotional natures

Developed emotionally

Moon Conjunct/Sextile/Trine :
Sun (sensitive, decisive, understanding)
Venus (social graces, etiquette, diplomatic, cultured)
Jupiter (spiritual, tolerant, patient, broad minded) 
Saturn* (wisdom, structured, patient)
Neptune (compassion, idealism, insightful)

Maturity Issues

Moon Square/Opposite/Inconjunct (possibly)
Sun (issues with own needs, can send out mixed messages, internal contradictions, frustrates others, focus issues, directionless, flip flopping)
Mercury (inconjunction causes issues expressing ego, trouble expressing needs, asking for what they want or expect from others)
Venus (inconjunction issues expressing what is wanted from others, troubles expressing graces, acknowledging needs)
Mars (overly competitive, aggressive, hot and cold nature, conflict ridden, impatient, angry, tantrums)
Jupiter (unrealistic, empty promises, gluttony, responsibility issues, unreliable)
Saturn* (depression, unresponsive emotionally, rigid, too structured, trouble unwinding, judgmental, critical)

Moon in any aspect to Uranus can cause erratic emotions and immaturity issues.

Moon in aspect to Pluto can either cause mature or immaturity depending on the same of the chart and how someone chooses to use Plutonic energy.

*Saturn* Saturns conjunction can produce better maturity with time, but can also swing both ways for better or worse

Bloodstream (Theo Raeken)

Requested by @poisonxxvy: hey you :) could you maybe write the prompts 1,9 and 17? fuck i forgot to write with who. it’d be cool if you could write it with either theo or cody 

Rating: angst/fluff

Prompts: 1.“I want you so much, but I hate your guts.”
9.“You’ve gotten into my bloodstream.”
17.“I wanna love you, but I don’t know how.”

A/N: I felt like it would suit theo more so I hope you don’t mind.

Ever since Theo helped Scott defeat the Ghost Riders, he was nowhere to be found. Y/N was nothing short of terrified once she found out, he didn’t have any family that anyone knew of, so where did he go? 

Although she would rather be buried alive than admit her fondness of the aforementioned chimera, she couldn’t help but feel lost without him. 

Their love for each other was one that no one could deny, except them. 

Weeks passed by and Y/N had been driven into a state of distress; her worry slowly consumed her and written itself on her face. 

“Maybe you should sit this one out, Y/N. You seem tired.” Scott paused midway through the meeting to address her exhaustion, placing a firm grip on her shoulder. 

The rest of the pack were just as worried about her, considering the fact that she absolutely refused to tell them the reason for her mental and physical asthenia, knowing how greatly it would upset them that she was hung up over the guy who caused her—and them—nothing but trouble and heartache. 

“Yeah, I’m with Scott on this one. Do you want me to take you home?” Stiles suggested. She only shook her head and said, “It’s alright, I’m gonna walk home; clear my head a bit.” She pushed her hips back, sliding the chair and standing up to wrap her jacket around her figure. 

“If there’s anything you need, just call, okay?” She gave a stiff nod before walking out the front door. Y/N snuggled the jacket closer to her body that started to shake from the cold. 

She let a few treacherous tears fall down her cheek as she walked in solitude. The November weather was not kind, the internal heat mixed with the winter cold sent her mind into a frenzy. 

Y/N was eternally grateful that her house wasn’t that far from the McCall’s. Y/N opened her bedroom door, the absolute last thing—or rather, person—she thought she’d see was Theo. 

“Hey,” he nonchalantly greeted, as if he never left. “Where have you been, asshole?!” She threw herself at him, squeezing the living light out of his worn out body. 

“God, I was worried sick about you.” And before she could think, or he could speak, she kissed him as she clutched on his shirt for dear life. 

Her heartbeat hammered in her ear, their bodies started heating up when he wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer than ever. 

Theo gently pulled away and placed his hands on her cheeks. His fingertips had already memorized the shape of her waist, the curves of her hips, the softness of her skin. His lips ghosted upon her jaw, leaving faint pecks until he reached her ear whispering, “You’ve gotten into my bloodstream.” Y/N gripped his shirt tighter at his words.

 Silence hit the room like a train, only the sound of their heavy breathing was heard. It was the nearest to peaceful that they’d ever been together, and when he opened his mouth to speak, it almost felt like an intrusion. 

“I’ve been living in my car, for a while now.” He spoke flatly, but she didn’t miss the hint of embarrassment in his voice. “And why the hell didn’t you come to me? You think I wouldn’t have set aside our petty drama?“ 

"See that’s the thing, darling. Our drama is anything but petty.” He watched intently as she decided, watched her set of shoulder harden. “I want you so much, but I hate your guts.

She yanked him forwards, crashing her lips with his, kissing him roughly. All the rage, all the hate, all the pain he’d caused her was poured into the kiss. 

Theo gripped her shoulders tightly, eliciting a low groan from her. 

Theo left her lips when he felt a slight wetness on his cheeks, thinking it was his own tears. 

"Do you really hate me?” His tone agonizing, 

“No. I- I wanna love you but I don’t know how.

C: I think it’s sick to really want your child to not only not look like you but to look as much as possible like the race that has oppressed yours for hundreds of years. I don’t see why you wouldn’t want your offspring to look like you if you saw beauty when you looked at yourself. We can babble about preference all day but that mixed baby obsession wave is that toxic self-hate bullshit and everybody knows it. I awoke and loved myself & I would never imagine my offspring not resembling me.

The Third Space

From the inner workings of a half Korean, half white, Jewish, straight, cis woman:

My perceived alienation as a child prevents me from understanding how others actually view me. I remember my childhood, transitioning into adolescence, or that period in my life where I started to become acutely aware of and deeply uncomfortable in my body as a body, characterized by turmoil, the desire to rip off the pouches of skin that hung over the waistband of my pants, to shrink my nose, to enlarge my eyes.

My body felt alien from the bodies I was surrounded by on a day to day basis, this internalized alienation purporting a sense of otherness and placelessness. I strove to act like, talk like, mimic the bodies of the white girls, hoping that embodying their characteristics could somehow transform my own body.

I strove to shrink, to be petite, and demure, and delicate, like how Asian girls are supposed to be.

Supposed to be.

I don’t know if anyone who looks at me gives me much thought. I had always assumed that people were meticulously trying to decipher me, break me down into categorizable boxes for their own comprehension, scrutinizing my face and hair and body.

“Are you….

Chinese? Thai? Native American? Italian? Mexican? Hispanic? Japanese? Indian?

Are you sure?”

Yup. Pretty sure, at least more sure than you should be.

I thought that these assumptions, however ignorant, were deliberately thought out, and that their ignorance was an indicator of deeply rooted misunderstandings and misconceptions of race, and what certain people are supposed to look like.

What I think I know now is that people don’t actually think these things through as meticulously as I had thought, or hoped?

People don’t really analyze my separate parts distinctly. They take a snapshot, a baseline assumption, that grossly neglects my ambiguity in appearance and they trust that they’re right, if only in the fact that I’m something different, unidentifiable, mixed.

I don’t mean to project malicious intent onto these people. They see me and they believe that they are trying to understand, they believe that they are stretching themselves and testing their empathy and political correctness and cultural competency. They truly think they are paying homage to what I represent–the “melting pot,” the “future,” the trend of ethnically ambiguous as beautiful, so long as it has some semblance of white.

The future is—-not white, not black, but not so brown that whiteness is unidentifiable.

White people would like to believe that they are a part of this future of racial harmony, of cultural sharing, of changing conventional norms of beauty. They would like to believe that they would be okay with a brown world–but they only are if they see themselves in it too.

Which is why when white people (white boys) tell me that I am beautiful, I am validated through their belief that I am different enough from them to be special, exotic, worthy of their time and attention and love.

And over time, I am equally shook by their inability to comprehend and value difference should it be too different from them–you see, I’m different, but I’m not so different that they have to actually stretch their cultural empathy. I am white enough, and have been socialized in whiteness to such an extent, that they are comfortable loving me, because I validate their self-image of empathy and cultural competency while still existing in their white world with relative ease.

Is this the third space?


The third space.

I have spent my entire life trying to place myself into one of two spaces, denying integral parts of my being in order to squash myself between the borders of a box I so desperately want to fit into. And it’s not necessarily that those members of those communities–those who fit in the box comfortably, noticeably, whose label comfortably encompasses their being–actively wish to expel me, exclude me from the box. It’s 2017. The idea of my parents, an Asian woman and a white man, living happily together with two healthy children, is not revolutionary, or unheard of, or something that disgusts most “progressively minded” people in the communities I am a part of. My existence, when explicitly expressed to white people and Asian people, is not horrific to them–in another time, maybe, I would be seen as an impure sub-human specimen, but I am lucky enough to exist now, where my existence validates people’s best intentions and hopes for the future. My existence proves to them that love is powerful enough to overcome difference. My existence validates their belief that friendship is colorblind. My existence gives them hope that the future of racial harmony can be attained through the sole means of their love for people of other races, because isn’t it that love that created me? I am a symbol of the beautiful multiculturalism of our expanding world, of the normative and ignorant vision that white people see themselves as pioneers of racial equality simply because they can fuck and grow a family with someone darker–but not too much darker–than them.

So it’s not white hostility that denies me access to their box, and I say white hostility and neglect to say Asian hostility because of my socialization into whiteness as a child–I lacked access to a Korean community, due to the demographics of my school, my neighborhood, and my inability to speak the language. White hostility did not deny me access to the box, but rather my own internalized alienation and inability to fully connect to the experience of white people–of feeling accepted, represented, and reflected positively in every aspect of the world–that did. My Asianness was an illusory cloak I shielded myself with as I shrunk from whiteness. My inability to be socialized into Asianness due to my lack of access to an accepting Korean community, or even to representations of Korean people in what I perceived of as my “world” of East Coast suburbia in a traditional WASP enclave, meant that I had to construct a semblance of an Asian identity from the fragments of knowledge I collected through visits to my grandparents, where we ate traditional Korean food, and Maama delightedly tried to teach me Hangul after I told her I wanted to learn how to speak Korean, the afternoons spent going over unfamiliar symbols that apparently were letters with sounds attached, but to me felt as distant as the Korean identity I was trying so hard to obtain for my self-validation.

Hangul never really stuck with me. I was young, and despite my yearning to fit within the Korean box, the impatient and stubborn nature of my youth led to reluctant practice and eventual desertion of the conquest of the Korean language.

My Asian identity was a self-constructed, crumbling formation, like a house haphazardly nailed together into some semblance of a roof and walls, not even house-like enough to be considered a home but so deliberately erected that one had to admire the effort. Not enough of a home that one could comfortably reside within its walls, and say with confidence, this is my home, here I shall stay.

My whiteness was a construct built against my will, out of my control, by the white people I surrounded myself with every day. It beckoned me to come through, to make myself at home, begging me to reside comfortably within, and yet when I approached the door, ready to become absorbed into the realm of normalcy, I tripped. Come in, it said, but as much as a tried, I could not get past the entrance. I put my foot in the door, and felt vulnerable, exposed, alien.

You belong here, we love you.

But underneath the proclamation of love was the visceral sense of being stared at, watched, observed as a symbol of what love should be. We love you, come in, but that love is only the selfish love of one’s own sense of their empathy, their scope of human compassion, we love you because you are different but still one of us, we love you because you look like what we imagine is the manifestation of our acceptance, love, world peace.

And you shall love us too.

  • happy international women’s day to nb folk
  • happy international women’s day to indigenous women
  • happy international women’s day to black women
  • happy international women’s day to abused women
  • happy international women’s day to religous women
  • happy international women’s day to lgbt+ women
  • happy international women’s day to dark skinned women
  • happy international women’s day to mentally ill women
  • happy international women’s day to ace-spec women
  • happy international women’s day to women of color 
  • happy international women’s day to disabled women 
  • happy international women’s day to mixed women of color
  • happy international women’s day to literally all of us who identify as women/present as fem/support ALL women - we’re amazing and the fact that we have made it this far is amazing and i am so proud of every single breath we take in this world that hates so many of us!! i love you all and you all inspire everyday xox

The official international trailer mixes things up a bit.

No new scenes, and some good ones cut. 


Celebrating International Women’s Day