Buy Bo Burnham’s “Egghead” poetry book or you will regret your entire life probably.
Sometimes I work in Manhattan where one of the office windows greets me with this view of the new Freedom Tower. Odd to think that after 13 years, this small town girl spends her days walking regularly by a site that has transformed the world. Each day there is this sort of momentary induced self-xenophobia of not belonging in a place where men stand to sell copies of books with covers of towers falling down. The occasional tourist will casually glance to see if I’ll consider buying one, sometimes looking at me with reproach for daring to step on sacred ground. I shake it off immediately and go on with my day.
During zuhr I step outside of the office to pray in the infamous Park 51, which is in an abysmal state due to lack of funds. As soon as you step inside you are welcomed by that famous masjid stink that seems to be ubiquitous at all downtrodden American masjids. The walls are peeling, most floors aren’t carpeted, and I make sure to do wudu in the office bathroom for fear of getting infected with some sort of contagious disease from the dingy sinks and poor plumbing the Islamic center offers.
The days go by and just like everyone else around me, there is a lack consciousness of what happened on this very ground.
But sometimes when I look up at that tower, whose marvelous glass windows give such a perfect reflection of the atmosphere above that it almost seems one with the sky, I think about all that has happened. I remember watching tv and hearing the screams, I remember the powerful solidarity and nationalism that overcame most of us as we marched onto war, I remember learning how difficult it would be to be both American and Muslim in this confusing Clash of Civilizations Samuel Huntington’s approach to the world. I think about all the lives that were lost since that day, and how unsafe and unsecure our world has become since.
And it’s at those moments that #neverForget settles in. It’s not just about the horrific day, but everything around us. How we have to learn more about ourselves and the rest of the world. How we need to make sure we approach all with love. To work hard to bring more light to the world and repel darkness with the beauty of all of our souls.
“Good and evil cannot be equal. Repel evil with what is better and your enemy will become as close as an old and valued friend, but only those who are steadfast in patience, only those who are blessed with great righteousness, will attain to such goodness.” [Quran, 41:34,35]
I can’t pretend to know how to vanquish the real terrors in this world without violence, but as a human being, I do think there is something powerful about deeply connecting with one another that can serve to help stand up against the transgressors.
"Put flowers on the table, open a window, and let the sun in. Smile to a small child, listen to the presence of nature, and be still."
Cherlyne Charles (via observando)
This is how you lose her.
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.
You must remember when she forgets.
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.
She remembers when you forget.
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.
You must learn her.
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.
And, this is how you keep her."
Junot Diaz, This is How You Lose Her (via kuttymolle)
Literally my math teacher abandoned today’s lesson because some kid brought his kitten to school i don’t even know
"Love is when you find yourself searching up her favourite movie even if it is an action movie you normally wouldn’t pick. Love is when you give her your favourite pillow because you know she likes it best. Love is understanding each other’s mumbled sleepy voices. Love is when your parents ask about her because they know how much she means to you. So therefore, she means something to them. Love is carrying each other home both intoxicated and not caring where you’re going because you have each other. Love is when she holds you closer to her when the crowds get to you and your anxiety rises. Love is not caring you have to be up in 5 hours for work because her jokes are so much better to listen to. Love is when you have a burping or fighting contest that ends in laughing so hard you cry. Love is when she puts a fan on for you because she knows the difficulty you’ll suffer without that humming. Love is slow dancing in a gravel parking lot to no music at 2am. Love is changing her into her pjs when she is so tired she can hardly even speak. Love is when each other realize something is wrong within a change of voice or action. Love is when you find yourself falling asleep curled up to her when you never really liked cuddling. Love is laughing during sex. Love is when “I want todo that” turns into “we should do that.” Love is what I have with her and I have never found something quite like it before. I plan to never lose her. She is it. She is love, my love."
What is love to you? // t.m (via aietala)