I like you.

Apr 16

(Source: hifas, via infiltrations)

helpusgreatwarrior:

What do you look for in a man?

helpusgreatwarrior:

What do you look for in a man?

dajo42:

gendered clothing is pretty ridiculous actually like it’s bits of fabric that we drape over our body why would we bother assigning gender to it

lostsplendor:

Kenyan woman and chevrotain, Mombassa c. 1909 via imgur.com

lostsplendor:

Kenyan woman and chevrotain, Mombassa c. 1909 via imgur.com

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liquorinthefront:

markatch:

Saturday morning cartoons
By Cameron

literally me

liquorinthefront:

markatch:

Saturday morning cartoons

By Cameron

literally me

koyuki-higashi:

今日はトビーと一緒です♡ 4月27日(日)はパレードに遊びに来てね!

koyuki-higashi:

今日はトビーと一緒です♡ 4月27日(日)はパレードに遊びに来てね!

So you wish you were Asian.

harmonykilledthehonk:

My parents came to the United States with a suitcase filled with things from their previous lives. They worked two jobs, seven days a week, while studying as full-time students to complete their education. My dad tells me stories about how he waited tables late into the night, while my mom sold shoes at flea markets on her days off to earn spare  cash to buy a car. They built the privilege affirmative action says we have from nothing but hard work.

I was given the gift of being able to be born into a family that defined the American Dream. My parents taught me English and Chinese simultaneously, spent hours reading me stories of Snow White and Cinderella, and the Monkey adventures in Journey to the West. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that they had learned English from memorizing vocabulary cards and reading old textbooks on grammar.

And though my parents taught me English, they ask me to deal with scheduling doctor appointments for them; they ask me to proofread emails for them, out of embarrassment that they feel their English isn’t sufficient to be taken seriously, it sickens me when I realize that while their mastery of the English language is more than proficient, it doesn’t matter, because the rest of the world doesn’t care.

But you wish you were Asian.

I grew up, hearing the words of boys whose only “standard” for the girls they were interested in was “Asian,” realizing that the disgustingly scary fetish of Asian women is actually a reality. I grew up, watching the world’s understanding of my cultural heritage be reduced to ching chong’s and ling long’s, kimonos, and fortune cookies. I grew up, being asked if my parents belonged to the communist party, when I held in me the stories they told me of labor camps they were sent to at the age of 13, of how one day, they couldn’t go to school anymore, of how my grandparents tried desperately later on, long after Mao’s regime ended, to force their children, now adults, to eat copious amounts of food, as if to make up for times when there was nothing to eat.

But you want to be Asian. 

I live in a country that has yet to realize that yellow face is not appropriate on mainstream television, a world that somehow doesn’t realize that statements like, “Kill the Chinese!!” are not acceptable to be aired on talk shows. I live in the 21st century, where the only understanding I can get about the story behind my heritage comes from my own parents, where the only times I can see people who look like me on screen is on Youtube.

I grew up as an Asian American, an individual in a group of people that never really belonged anywhere. Because in the United States, we’re nothing more than descendants of the people who invented orange chicken, and in China, we’re foreigners who fail to adopt the careful nuance of the dialect spoken there. We grew up, holding our ethnicity as something of great pride, and at the same time, of great burden. 

Our representation in the United States government practically is nonexistent. There is no proof that we as a group of human beings existed beyond the pages of Amy Tan novels. The caricatures on television taught us that we were nerds, deficient at English and social skills, bound by our supposed tiger parents to live out their dreams.

And because we apparently don’t exist to the rest of the United States, the inherent racism my “fascinating” ethnicity faces also ceases to exist.

But still. You enjoy your green tea and kungfu movies and paper lanterns. You love your Chinese 1 class and your Japanese Civilizations course and Wang Leehom. And my goodness, what you would give, if only you could be Asian.

(via icykynite)

Apr 15

housewifeswag:

do you ever forget how attractive someone is until you see a new picture of them and you’re just like

image

(via nerdymouse)

#commentingoncommenting

This is something I’ve been thinking about lately.
Why do so many tumblr users, especially female users, comment extensively in the tags, and not in the text box itself? When it gets reblogged, their comments are lost. On many layouts, the tags are hard to see. And perhaps that’s the intention.
Maybe I’m misunderstanding the implications of tagging, or I don’t understand tagging culture. But if seems like a way to put one’s commentary on the side, which is weird because it’s your own blog, why put it on the side? Shouldn’t a blog be your thoughts and posts?
I understand using tags when you want the post to stand on its own, like if it’s a comic or artwork and you want to say “this is amazing” but not too loudly. Actually, even that is sort of odd, when you think about it. Your comment is there, it’s only smaller. More difficult to read. Subdued.
I guess it makes sense if the post already has a ton of reblogs and is chock full of lines.
But why do it when there’s nothing on the post at all? Or if it’s your own artwork?
I rarely (never) see male bloggers use tagging as a blogging platform. I am beginning to think that in a way, tagging is like the equivalent of saying “well, I think, I guess…” in a quiet voice. It’s a way to minimize, to self-police one’s voice. A way to say “what I’m blogging about here isn’t really important” or what is often explicitly typed out, “just ignore this” or “ignore me”.
It’s a defensive move, a demurring act. It is insecure, like many women are about their opinions, feelings, emotional rants. We are told that these things are not to be shared. But blogging is such a great tool to express oneself. Let’s use the opportunity to make comments, to throw out ideas and stories, to join the conversation. Add comments that can be seen, comments that others can appreciate and read clearly.
I’m not saying that commenting in the tags is a bad thing. Like being a person who speaks very quietly, or never raises their hand in class, it’s a perfectly fine and valid way to be, if that’s your thing. But maybe we should think about why we are doing it. Why our opinions, our feelings, our ideas, even entire stories, deserve to be posted as a side note. Why do we whisper when we can speak? Who and what is telling us be should be ignored?

For people who love tags, keep doing your thing if you want. But consider commenting in the text the next time you have a lot to say, or you have a strong reaction. Know that your ideas are valid and important, and others want to read them, too.

中国で開かれた学会で、私が発表した後、中国人の女性の研究者から、私の発表内容の資料を欲しいと頼まれたので、私はコピーを取って、忘れてはいけないので、彼女の名前を、目立つように赤いボールペンで書いて、次の日に渡したら、彼女が、私に「これはダメです」と侮辱されたように、書類を私に突っ返して言う。
「どうしたんですか」と尋ねると、
「私の名前を赤で書かないでください」と真顔でいう。
 中国では、名前を赤で書くのは葬式の時だと言う。

 出張者と一緒に、ベトナムの田舎の大衆レストランで、食事を頼んだら、大盛のご飯に2本の箸を立てて持ってきた。出張者が「それは日本では葬式に使う」と懸命に説明しようとしたが、通じなかった。

 ベトナムで、生まれたての赤ちゃんを抱いた友人のお母さんに、「可愛い赤ちゃんですね」と言うと、怒ったように、さっと子どもを抱えて奥に行ってしまった。聞くと、人の赤ちゃんに「可愛いですね」と大声で言うと、それを天上の悪魔が聞いて、その赤ちゃんをさらっていってしまうという。そんな場合は、口に手の平を立てて、「チョンビア(ここだけの話だが)」と小さく言ってから、静かに誉める。こうすれば悪魔には聞こえないという。

 ベトナムの民家の玄関の外の上に、小さな鏡が取りつけてある。「この鏡はなんだろう」というと、「それは悪魔よけです。悪魔が家の前にきて、鏡を見ると、みにくい自分の顔に驚いて、逃げていくという話だ。

 ベトナムでは、お父さんが朝、仕事で出かける時、あるいは子どもが受験に出かける時に、家を出て、まず最初に女性に出会うと、仕事がうまくいかない。受験に失敗するという迷信があり、わざわざ毎朝、家の外に、男性を配置して、主人が出ていくということもある。その他、ベトナムには、無数の迷信がある。

 中でも、赤ちゃんが生まれて20日間は、その家を訪問してはならないというのがある。その家を訪問したら、新生児が死んでしまったら、恨みを一身に受けることになりかねない。


 テト(ベトナムの正月)の元旦の朝、一番に友だちの家に行く時は注意する。テトの最初の日の朝に、やってきた客がその年の1年の縁起を決める決定的人物であるとされる。ベトナムの多くの家族では、有力者をわざわざテトの元旦に家に呼ぶようにしている。

 ネパールだって、負けてはいない。迷信はヒマラヤの山ほどある。
 事務所で、部下が仕事にでかけるので、
「どこへ行くんだ」と、私が聞いたら、急に怒り出した。ネパールでは、出かける時に、「どこへ行くんだ」と尋ねられると、仕事がうまくいかないという。これを真面目に言う。実際に友人が自分の子供に怒っているのを見たことがある。その他、土曜日は旅に出てはいけないとか、曜日毎の禁忌がある。
 私は事務所では、みんなに「あなた方が出かける時に、私は『どこに行くんだ?』とは訊かない。その代わりに、私が言う前に、あなた方は「~に行きます」と私に必ず言うこと。言ってでていかないとダメ」というルールを作った。

 どんな国に行っても、迷信がある。迷信は歴史から来たもの、言語の音から来た不吉な言葉に似ているもの、最近外国から取り入れたものなど多彩だ。
 黒ネコが前を横切ったら、友人のネパール人が、十字を切っている。「あれ、君はヒンズー教徒だろう」というと、「これはヨーロッパ人から取り入れたんだ」という。

「そんなもの、取り入れるなよ。ますます混乱する」

 海外を旅していて、中近東では、子どもの頭をなでることは避けるなど、いっぱいタブーや禁忌がある。神経質にならず、逆に新しい国を旅するなら、その国の迷信やタブーを調べて、記録に取っておくとすごく面白い。ただ、わざわざやってはいけない。

” — 読むBizワクチン ~一読すれば身に付く体験、防げる危険~ - 海外旅行・出張危険回避講座 (一読さえすればリスクは最小、そしてあなたは、海外旅行のプロ)その35 迷信アラカルト (via kiri2)

(Source: darylfranz, via rokuroku)

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Apr 13

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