Michael Hobbes on the societal blindness that puts the blame for harassment on the victim: “If you have never been hurt by jokes about your gender or your race or your sexuality, those who complain about them seem oversensitive.”
I don’t think you ever stop loving someone after you fall in love with their entire being. It’s just another kind of love. I think you just stop feeling pain when you think about them. And moving on means smiling when they come to mind because of the memories. It turns into caring. I think that’s why people are afraid of using the term ‘love’ when they fall in love. Because they’re afraid of the idea that they will never stop loving them. It just becomes a mature kind of love. One where you don’t need them but you wish them the best and hope they’ll still be some kind of part of your life. Even if it is at temporary periods. But you still love their being. Because you got to know them in a way that is so personal and affectionate that it becomes part of the way you love other people and yourself. And you start falling in love with yourself more than them. That’s when you continue living, knowing that they are no longer with you, but knowing you might have a stronger sense of the word love for someone yet to come.
These are some of the books I’ve left on my bookshelf, waiting for something to happen, waiting for something in my life to occur. To read them at a significant point in my life. Because I’ve always believed they were worth that wait. Some I’m waiting to read when I fall in love. Or out of love. For a train ride. Or a sunny day. And some I’ve looked for everywhere and haven’t found yet. But these are the books I would choose if I were to only read 20 more books for the rest of my life.
A Farewell to Arms
Books vs cigarettes
Down and Out in Paris and London
The Anatomy of Being
I’ll Tell You in Person
The princess saves herself in this one
A box of Matches
We Should All be Feminists
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
All over the world, there are people who have no voice. Children drowning in poverty, women stripped of dignity, men pushed down where there are no safety nets. In dark corners of the world, they subsist day-to-day. Perhaps one of the greatest symptoms of the voiceless is that they lose the capacity to dream. I […]
Suffragists parade down Fifth Avenue, 1917 — The New York Times Photo Archives
I never thought that I would need to be a part of history. Don’t get me wrong, I know that each generation does indeed end up in a history book for a handful of headlining events that mark the course of their lifetimes, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined that the women in those old black and white photos, the women marching in the streets, the women burned at the stake might actually need to be me.
There were a few brief months where I truly believed that I would see the election of the first female President of the United States, but as we continue to be horrifyingly reminded each day, that version of history did not come to be. In connection with many of the articles from the last few weeks I…
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In 1973, Group 8, a Swedish feminist group founded in 1970 to better the lives of women and fight for women´s right to work and day care for children participated in a 1st of may demonstration in Malmö, Sweden. A catching slogan I well remember and can still hear in my mind is “Daycare for everybody”. In those days many women were home with their children and only one of ten children went to day care. By the early 1980s one of three children went to day care and today day care is the norm and almost all women work after the child is one year old. And dads take their part of the time parents get as paid leave. It was considered that this feminist group influenced how this came to happen…
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Solitude has personally always been a provisional aspect I needed. As vibrant and open I adore being, there are temporary breaks I physically and mentally long for to feel myself grow and adjust my fair of the idea that over time, I will replace priorities, lose contact with individuals, and keep moving forward while I will always have myself. I have been infatuated with the idea of people. Crowds. Conversation. That will always be the majority of the complexity of a being I have formed overtime. Which is why I rarely mention this minor aspect of the life I always loved. I yearn for those walks alone, the contagious smiles of the people that surround me. I love the spots I find alone, the ones I debate whether I should keep to myself, or somehow bring someone in particular. I love the books I have finished at benches I have never gone back to, and the strangers that started conversations who sat next to me. I cherish the cups of coffee and cigarettes I’ve consumed with music I wouldn’t often share, the thoughts that turned into writing and the dances in front of my mirror. From crying to smiling, it is so pure when uncontrolled, when there are no factors influencing your emotions. When it is just you. Because when you know it’s temporary, you take it all in.