Happy Earth Day everyone. Remember this year we march for science, so wherever you are, however you can, please get involved. Science serves us all, it protects our air and water, preserves our planet, saves lives, creates new industries, puts food on our tables, educates the next generation, and safeguards our future. We all have a voice and we can only bring about change if we band together to use it.
I believe in strong women. I believe in the woman who is able to stand up for herself. I believe in the woman who doesn’t need to hide behind her husband’s back. I believe that if you have problems, as a woman you deal with them, you don’t play victim, you don’t make yourself look pitiful, you don’t point fingers. You stand and you deal. You face the world with a head held high and you carry the universe in your heart.
some of y’all: allura is a strong buff violent butch woman always ready to kick ass and take no shit!!! she’s so ghetto!!! no words only FISTS!! she can beat my ass into a coma and rob me oh yeah!!!
others: no no no!!! allura is a dainty fragile princess uwu,,,so soft,,,,she never uses physical violence she’s a smol bean cinnamon roll uwu,,,too pure,,,don’t u ever make her use violence that’s racist
me, an intellectual: much of allura’s appeal lies in the fact that she is kind, gentle, and diplomatic, but also has the ability to be extremely powerful. when faced with enemies that words will not work against, she uses amazing amounts of physical strength against them. she shows that one can be feminine but strong at the same time, and kindness does not equal weakness, which is frankly inspiring and makes me so happy little girls have her to look up to. people can and should appreciate both her femininity and her strength, and while they should be wary of language they use for black characters, doing so is not necessarily antiblack if they’re speaking indiscriminately. but it’s easier for me to just say allura’s pretty and i’m gay and would be honored if she beat me up, cause i like pretty girls that can beat me up
Author’s Note: thank you everyone who has been so nice and encouraging to me as a writer. I love writing and I love Ethan and all of you have made this this a fun little safe haven for me. I can’t say thank you enough. Drop me a message or an ask. I love talking with you! Now here’s a little Coachella Ethan, kinda, sorta.
“Remember when Ethan gave you fake flowers for Easter?” Cameron spoke dryly, knowing fully well Ethan was only a few feet behind her, leaning against the doorframe and nibbling on a plate of pancakes. You were sitting in front of a mirror curling your hair.
You looked at her through the reflection, a smile stretching at your lips. You went to speak, but were cut off by your obnoxious boyfriend who still spoke with his mouth full no matter how many times you told him it was rude and unbecoming of him.
If they’re smart enough to be doctors, they’re smart enough to learn to say your name correctly.
I don’t have a common typical English name. My name is unique to my culture. It’s always been difficult always being different, an outsider. Especially growing up in the US south. But that’s a different story.
There are two schools of thought on my name: “oh cool so exactly as it’s spelled” and “what in the actual fuck I don’t even know where to start.” The latter are always the loudest and most obnoxious.
First days of school were the worst growing up. I would usually keep track of where in the alphabet the teacher was on roll call and knew she was looking at my name when there was a long pause. I would fake a laugh, raise my hand, and tell them my name. Everyone else would laugh along. I hated it, I was so embarrassed. Why couldn’t I have been named Ashley or Catherine or Megan? Life would have been so much easier.
I grew up to embrace my name and love it. I love my culture, our history is awesome, and my name is badass. I’ve only met one other person with my name and she’s ten years younger than I am and lives in Canada. But my acceptance doesn’t mean everyone else has had the same epiphany about my name. I still get the same looks, well-intentioned but rude comments, and confused stares from all the Caroline’s, Katelyn’s, and Lauren’s.
Some days I own it with a bad ass “no it’s not hard, you’re being dramatic, it’s easy to say and really cool” attitude. Sometimes I have rhyming tricks that I personally HATE but understand it’s a necessary evil because some people have tiny minds and need the extra help. And then I throw in a little history lesson because damn, some people.
But some days I’m exhausted, and I can’t argue and stand up for myself. Some days I’m tired and defeated and I let it go, “I know, it’s hard, a lot of people have trouble. It’s okay.”
My resident caught me on one of those nights. I was on hour 14 of the work day, scrubbing in for yet another surgery. She didn’t keep asking my name because she couldn’t pronounce it, but because she genuinely couldn’t remember what it was because she was having a very similar kind of day.
No one has ever said anything like that to me before. I was too tired at the time to understand and appreciate what she said, but it’s been resonating with me ever since. She’s fucking right. If you’re comfortable speaking in medical jargon with our made-up sounding words, you can say my name. It’s not hard, it’s not my fault you can’t say it, and no, you can’t make up a nickname for me. ✋🏼