one of the cool things i found on vacation

ladyaelisbeth  asked:

Wort thing that's happened rp wise?/ Do you stay mad long?

Originally posted by clowny69

I never really stay mad for long, as long as I’m given my space and a short time to cool off. Given those things I can get over stuff a lot faster than most people can believe.


As for the worst thing thats happened RP wise..hmm. Probably happened back in my days on MoonGuard, had this -HUGE- RP storyline going with my one of my characters, maybe about a year and a half of daily work and partnership (character was in a heavy relationship, marriage, etc), and I ended up going away on vacation for like 10 days to a family reunion. When I came back, I found out the Rp partner I had had through it all had gone and had (man Ive said Had a lot) their character go and cheat on mine, and also get pregnant/had a baby with another guy…then pretty much retconned everything that we had done. That more or less covers the jist of it.

According to local folklore and legend, Little Gracie Watson is among the most haunted spirits residing at Bonaventure and in Savannah.  Visitors will leave toys for her to play with, and some claim she will cry tears of blood if her playthings are removed. There is always a collection of toys near her grave area, especially around Christmas, but no sign of tear stains running down her porcelain “doll-like” marble face.  There is also a belief that if you place a quarter in Gracie’s hand and encircle her statue three times, the coin will disappear.  Like the “Bird Girl” statue, little Gracie Watson has become very popular, and the grave is now fenced off in wrought-iron to prevent further damage.

cool



“and you’re half cambodian, that’s like SO COOL”

she says this, and i can’t help but being puzzled. what do you mean by “it’s so cool ?” 

oh. oh, it’s the first time she meets a mixed race asian person. and she says it’s so “cool”. she keeps repeating that word and i feel like i told her i’m half fairy or something. but i’m just me and i don’t know what she means when she’s using that word over and over again. 

that’s what they think, i think, that people of color are “cool”. they call us “ethnic” and they call us “exotic” and they call us “a beacon of diversity”. 

i try hard, and harder, and harder and the compliment she thinks she’s making, i fail to hear it. 

because. because let me tell you how “cool” it is to be me. 

i’m a first generation cambodian born after the genocide that took place between 1975 and 1979. my father is a survivor. my father is a refugee.

from a refugee camp in thailand to another, he eventually ended up here in Paris after declining an offer to be sent to America. 

let me tell you how “cool” it was, when during his first years here, he used to wake up, multiple times a night, every single night, sweating and out of breath, jaw and fists clenched, ready to fight back against the invisible attackers that remained in his nightmares. 

let me tell you how “cool” it was, when he arrived here alone without the slightest idea of whether his family had survived or not. how “cool” it was when he, a former journalist, now had to carry bags of rice sixteen hours a day for the asian stores in china town to make a living. and the sleepless nights. and the clenched fists to fight back, just in case of. 

let me tell you about how “cool” it was, when he drowned his sorrow and trauma in alcohol and opium because then, refugees had been offered no psychological support. and how the tight refugee community was his only family. when those that survived hell with you are the only brothers you have left. 

let me tell you how “cool” it was. for him to be dropped off in this country he had only seen in pictures. where the cold was new, and the loneliness was new, and the hate of these people towards him was real. 

and me. let me tell you how “cool” it felt, when at a young age, i would hear my little friends talk about going on vacation at their grandparents’. how “cool” it was when i asked where my father’s brothers and sisters and parents were. everyone has brothers and sisters and parents, i thought. 

let me tell you how “cool” it was, when i first greeted my grand parents when i was 9. on their tomb. 

this grand father, beaten to death by the khmer rouges. my two oldest uncles, gone missing and never found again. this grandmother whom i love, that died of sorrow after she had lost every thing and every one she loved. 

let me tell you how “cool” it is, to love ghosts with all you heart because there is no one left to love. because even the memories are scarce. 

let me tell you how “cool” it is when all you have left is four or five partly burned pictures that my father managed to hide from the khmer rouges in the crack of a wall in a house, and how they are all i can cherish. 

let me tell you how “cool” it is, when i wear the portrait of my grandfather on a pure gold chain around my neck, next to my buddha, according to the cambodian tradition, and white people laugh and make jokes.

“is that kim jong-il ?” they cackle, “is that jacky chan ?”. and every time they laugh and laugh, it comes like flashes in my head, and i see, from a distance, men dressed in black, beating this man i love and never knew, until they have broken everything there is to break with their riffles. i clench my jaw, like my father years before me, and i think to myself, “this is so cool”.

nocturnalxnightingale  asked:

I just found your blog and I love it!! It's so neat, lots of cool things. Have you been to BC? If so what parts? (I live here so I'm curious)

Yeah, I went on a family vacation there when I was 12! Only time I’ve been to Canada. We went sea kayaking on Johnstone Strait and saw over 120 orcas at one time… they swam directly under my kayak and I was paralyzed with awe. Spent a couple of days in Alert Bay visiting a friend of my dad’s, visited the city of Vancouver, and camped illegally off some logging roads. Garden Girl and I might roadtrip up there after camp is over, if we’ve got time.

That was a weird vacation… it was the first time I’d been to the Pacific Northwest. We had cousins in Seattle who invited themselves along on our trip. The daughter was a couple of years older than me but on the wrong prescription for ADHD meds, so she didn’t really speak the entire time. Her dad had been listening to a lot of Rush Limbaugh - we discovered this too late, as he spent the entire road trip complaining about Native Americans and our “vaginized” society. My great uncle had been living alone for far too long and spoke to his pet doxins like they were human beings.