next

liquid-lightning:

librarienne:

rose-verres:

“A three second exposure meant that subjects had to stand very still to avoid being blurred, and holding a smile for that period was tricky. As a result, we have a tendency to see our Victorian ancestors as even more formal and stern than they might have been.”

I’ve reblogged this before and I will reblog it again.

This is so great

crescere-ex-nihilo:

usuk-omg:

nowaitstop:

You have been visited by Baljeet, the Failed Test. If you do not reblog within ten seconds, you will fail your finals.

too risky man

just cus it’s baljeet

crescere-ex-nihilo:

usuk-omg:

nowaitstop:

You have been visited by Baljeet, the Failed Test. If you do not reblog within ten seconds, you will fail your finals.

too risky man

just cus it’s baljeet

headfirstforieros:

you and your fall down guys and chemical reactions

(Source: headfirstforhalloween)

rin-matsuokas-hips:

conductoroftardislight:

heartofalifer:

SOMETIMES I GET SO FUCKING ANGRY WHEN I REMEMBER THAT I AM A GIRL BECAUSE MY MONEY HAS TO GO TO BUYING BRAS FOR THESE STUPID ORGANIC MILK BAGS AND PADS FOR MONTHLY UNWANTED SUBSCRIPTION OF LUCIFER’S WATERFALL LIKE WTF MAN WHY DONT THESE THINGS COME FREE WHEN MY UNWANTED PACKAGE IS GIVEN TO ME SERIOUSLY THO

organic milk bags

monthly subscription to lucifer’s waterfall

manasaysay:

rabbrakha:

Parineeti Chopra responds to a male reporter who claims to know nothing about periods (menstrual cycle). [X]

SO IMPORTANT.

I started my period when I was 10 years old. But we didn’t tell my grandma for three years because she subscribed to the “old traditions”, where a woman on her period could not enter the house, not even to bathe. Where she had to sit outside in front of the house (where the whole village could be witness to her shame and isolation) for the entire duration.

My friend started her period unexpectedly while we were at our local temple (in America) for dance class. Asking around if any of the parents had pads (all of them apologized and acted like adults about it), I thought surely the front office has a first aid kit. Don’t they have pads? When we asked, not only did they not have any, when one of the women gave one from her purse, the head secretary told us “There are men who need to use the first-aid kit, ya? So we don’t keep period things there.” Not even ibuprofen (which has so many more uses than period pain).

There are girls in India and Nepal (and other places, but I just read an in-depth piece about the situations in Nepal) who have to go to the “period hut” when their period comes and not leave until its over. They can’t wash and dry their cloth pads in the daylight, so they do it at night when the pads won’t dry properly before their next use, making them vulnerable to infection.

It is incredibly important, especially in India, to break the taboo surrounding periods. Break the secrecy around an event that happens to almost every woman, every month for literally half of her lifetime. Break the hiding, break the cover-up, break the SHAME.

Just break EVERYTHING. So little girls can go to school every day of every month without feeling ashamed. So women can work every day of every month to provide for their families without being glared at. So single fathers can confidently take care of their daughters’ health. So that women can talk about how terrible their period is or isn’t and give each other advice on how to deal with it without looking around to make sure men aren’t listening.
So that Whisper doesn’t have to be called Whisper, it can be called SHOUT. It can be called PROUD. So that we don’t NEED to fucking WHISPER about our bodies and our health.

(Source: baawri)

gamzee-thehonk-makara:

zidajane777:

Parents repeating themselves

I feel this on a spiritual level.

gamzee-thehonk-makara:

zidajane777:

Parents repeating themselves

I feel this on a spiritual level.

(Source: kevinmch)

cecilyjeanne:

stunningpicture:

Moving out of the apartment

This is, without a doubt, the saddest photo I have ever seen in my ENTIRE LIFE.

cecilyjeanne:

stunningpicture:

Moving out of the apartment

This is, without a doubt, the saddest photo I have ever seen in my ENTIRE LIFE.

wheresagnes:

aztec-princesss:

gohomeluhan:

As I’m walking through Target with my little sister, the kid somehow manages to convince me to take a trip down the doll aisle. I know the type - brands that preach diversity through displays of nine different variations of white and maybe a black girl if you’re lucky enough. What I instead found as soon as I turned into the aisle were these two boxes.

The girl on the left is Shola, an Afghani girl from Kabul with war-torn eyes. Her biography on the inside flap tells us that “her country has been at war since before she was born”, and all she has left of her family is her older sister. They’re part of a circus, the one source of light in their lives, and they read the Qur’an. She wears a hijab.

The girl on the right is Nahji, a ten-year-old Indian girl from Assam, where “young girls are forced to work and get married at a very early age”. Nahji is smart, admirable, extremely studious. She teaches her fellow girls to believe in themselves. In the left side of her nose, as tradition mandates, she has a piercing. On her right hand is a henna tattoo.

As a Pakistani girl growing up in post-9/11 America, this is so important to me. The closest thing we had to these back in my day were “customizable” American Girl dolls, who were very strictly white or black. My eyes are green, my hair was black, and my skin is brown, and I couldn’t find my reflection in any of those girls. Yet I settled, just like I settled for the terrorist jokes boys would throw at me, like I settled for the butchered pronunciations of names of mine and my friends’ countries. I settled for a white doll, who at least had my eyes if nothing else, and I named her Rabeea and loved her. But I still couldn’t completely connect to her.

My little sister, who had been the one to push me down the aisle in the first place, stopped to stare with me at the girls. And then the words, “Maybe they can be my American Girls,” slipped out of her mouth. This young girl, barely represented in today’s society, finally found a doll that looks like her, that wears the weird headscarf that her grandma does and still manages to look beautiful.

I turned the dolls’ boxes around and snapped a picture of the back of Nahji’s. There are more that I didn’t see in the store; a Belarusian, an Ethiopian, a Brazilian, a Laotian, a Native American, a Mexican. And more.

These are Hearts 4 Hearts dolls, and while they haven’t yet reached all parts of the world (I think they have yet to come out with an East Asian girl), they need all the support they can get so we can have a beautiful doll for every beautiful young girl, so we can give them what our generation never had.

Please don’t let this die. If you know a young girl, get her one. I know I’m buying Shola and Nahji for my little sister’s next birthday, because she needs a doll with beautiful brown skin like hers, a doll who wears a hijab like our older sister, a doll who wears real henna, not the blue shit white girls get at the beach.

The Hearts 4 Hearts girls are so important. Don’t overlook them. Don’t underestimate them. These can be the future if we let them.

You can read more about the dolls here: http://www.playmatestoys.com/brands/hearts-for-hearts-girls

*runs to target- i need to get my babydoll one for her 1st bday

ohmygosh and the one from Ethiopia has natural hair which you can’t get from the American Girl “just like you” dolls!

cheondingdong:

MBLAQ MVs:

Cry