Being supportive
When you want something good for someone you love,
but itās found between a fine line of motivation
and manipulation.
Peter Solarz
šŖ¼
cherry valley forever
Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
AnasAbdin
Jules of Nature

blake kathryn

titsay
Monterey Bay Aquarium
we're not kids anymore.
trying on a metaphor
noise dept.

I'd rather be in outer space šø
i don't do bad sauce passes

#extradirty
h

romaā
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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@mayyams
Being supportive
When you want something good for someone you love,
but itās found between a fine line of motivation
and manipulation.

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Physically
As an Asian-American woman in the US, I have never felt extremely attractive or sexy. I am average in height, weight, and facial structure and definitely below average in the boobs and ass department. Growing up, I was insecure about my body, but ultimately I came to accepting the fact that I will always beĀ ācute.ā I think another reason why I came to being comfortable with my average self was because I wanted to reject the patriarchal definition of sexual attraction and the objectification of the woman body. By the time I was budding, my body had already been abused by a handful of men, and I didnāt want more attention than I already had received. So, as an adult, I took pride in not being vain in how I looked.
However, I find myself looking into the mirror and trying to pose seductively. I would take pictures of myself that I would delete, not because I didnāt want them to be found, but because I didnāt like the results. When we went out, I would try my best to find a sexy outfit. I would add the finishing touches to mimic the celebrities that always seduced me through the screen. The issue was I never got theĀ āsexyā or ābeautifulā compliment. And that bugged me. Even in the most intimate positions, I never felt physically attractive, just carnally fulfilling.Ā
Last night, I asked him,Ā āwhy do you find me attractive?ā And he started with a chuckle andĀ ā...because youāre cute...ā My heart dropped.Ā āAnd your personality...and how selfless you are...how much you sacrifice for me...and that you would do anything for me...and that turns me on.āĀ
And that was the moment I became grateful that he makes me feel beautiful for the woman I am beneath the skin. It was the moment I appreciated that our love transcended physical barriers. And I thank him for healing wounds I never thought could close.Ā
Love/Hate
Iāve been thinking
about how much easierĀ
it would be to hate.
Hate is self-fueling
and ignites manifestations,
such as resent, pity, and anger.
All of which are as volatile
and eruptive as the next.
It doesnāt take much to start
or to spread infectiously.
Love, on the other hand,
often requires replenishing
from another source-
one that becomes the sweetest
addiction and high.
And thatās why
I hate love.
The confessions of a gamophobic
Iāve never dated a lot. Iāve had a lot of near-connections, infatuations, near-misses, friendzoning (on both ends), but relationships- a true connection- those are rare in my life. Iām not ashamed of it, although I used to feel the need to keep up with my female peers in the pursuit of āloveā and āhappiness.ā Regardless, I think Iām ready to confess my crimes as a gamophobic aka a commitaphobe.
I am the frog in boiling water- I sit and wait for the warmth, wait and wait, without realizing the heat between us. This is detrimental- either you pull us off the heat, or I jump out and run.
Iām a hopeless romantic with a realist streak and a monogamous tendency- you were my best connection, but I pushed you away because I knew I was career-driven, yet every time I see you, I wish madly that a change of heart would whisk me away in the sunset. Contradictory and especially confusing- I really donāt know what to tell you...
I can be cordial and giggle my way across the dance floor, through a nice dinner, and in every text, but I sometimes just canāt connect with you. Itās instinctive, and I never believed this because Iām a scholar of formulas and algorithms, but that gut is too organic to ignore.
Number 3 leads to my 4th crime: lack of checklists/criteria. I really donāt have aĀ ātype,ā per se. But, EVERYONE has a type!Ā Yes, I have certain qualities that Iād deem as a perfect mate, but again, that connection, the mind, the character is what wins me over. And the dating apps just cannot help me with reconciling this concept. Falling back to passing superficial judgement on pictures and misspellings on profiles disgusts me to the point of tears and frustration (of myself. not all the great young gentlemen online).Ā
I am recovering from gamophobic whiplash- put two gamophobes together is like trying to shove two positives poles of magnets together and watching them repel. I was so ready to climb out of my gamophobia, but timing was just impossible. And this has reverted me into a severe gamophobic state, leaving a trail ofĀ āSorry, I donāt think weāre compatibleā texts after many first dates.Ā
With all of this listed, Iām still unsure how to approach jumping back onto the playing field. Thereās certainly no reason to not to. Youth is celebrated so highly nowadays! Yet, Iām feel like a stuck wheel in a rut. Internet, what is your advice to get out of this funk?Ā
āIt is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.ā

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He said
āWe had our moments...
We are compatible...
But I am selfish,
and I need someone who is constantly there.ā
Diving
Iāve been thinking about us lately, months after we have decided that our alignment was far too crooked to even try to fit. It doesnāt make sense now, not any more than it made sense then. Yet, moments of the months where we did fit keep flashing back, like a cliche movie montage. From the cringing pecks to the melodramatic declarations, they ping through my mind like droplets of the beginning of a rainstorm. And then the storm falls.
There was nothing wrong with us, nothing but the fear and insecurity of the difficult decisions we may have to face if we were in too deep. We dove into the sea of ignorant bliss, but the moment the density and pressure of the water pressed on our chests, we scampered to the surface. Somehow, the abyss that we never had the chance to explore still intrigues me, even though nothing has changed. Literally, nothing has changed; my ambitions, my future, your life, my feelings. And I so desperately want to know what that means. And I want to plunge through that icy surface, just to say,Ā āHi.ā I want to sink until Iām at my last breathe and then sink some more.Ā
Donāt give in to those compliments: they will fade, just as those fine lines become more defined.
There will be one day when I will look upon my daughterās youthful face and remember my own. And I hope she will never value that face more than her mind. I hope she will never accept those lingering eyes with a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. I hope she will never compromise her values for desire, her dreams for anotherās, her esteem for a man or womanās approval. Her vanity should never consume her, motivate her, or mold her- only her integrity shall do this.Ā
And I looked to my motherās aged face and held her high cheek bones in my hands. I sense her frustration and pressure, but I see my own face...and ask her to do the same.
Undertone
She will always shine brighter than you ever will, catching every manās eye like a neon sign. They sing about her in songs, they praise her in pop culture, they raise her up like an inflated hot-air balloon. You, being the subtle, the down-low, the undertone, will sit here until they begin to look and truly stare. Thatās when they will see your colors and fall in love with the purity of the shades of such kindred soul...
"Sometimes your insecurities and your inexperience will lead you, too, to embrace other peopleās expectations, standard, or values. But you can harness that inexperience to carve out your own path- one that is free of the burden of knowing how things are supposed to be.ā

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From our first steps to our last, you will always be with us, Grandma & Grandpa.
Dearest glass ceiling,
Each time I soar, I always let my fingers glide across your cool barrier, my knees just gently nudge against that icy field. And then I draw back, scared of cracking this glass ceiling- though I long to be freed from this cage of doubt and capacity. There has to be a limit for everything with energy, no? There mustĀ be a mark for the end of your potential- nothing is infinite: itās just the physics of things.
But where potential energy ends, kinetic energy begins. And I feel it, building inside, and I see what beckons across this window. Iām speeding towards you ceiling, and Iām going to hit you with a force that will shatter you to shards. And I know these shards will cut my skin, embed into my face, bleed me in an effort to hold me back in fear. Well, as they say, no pain, no gain, right?
Sincerely,
Wrecking you before you wreck me
Not there yet
The other day, I thought about my eulogy and how itād sound like (or, er, how Iād want it to sound like). However, I had to stop myself before I could get through a few lines because I began to realize how far I was from this speech...both figuratively and literally. And that made me a bit sad.
Dearest irony,
Thank you for always making my week! Late Friday afternoon (might I add, Friday the 13th), I set a goal of donating blood more often in honor of my grandfather, especially since we shared the same blood type and he had received 3 pints of blood in his time of need. So, I got myself to the blood bank and had a lovely time draining a pint.
Fast-forward 36 hours, I wake up with a sore throat and runny nose. No biggie, just allergies. At 48 hours: chills & 99.2 degree fever. Fuck.Ā I quickly whipped out the donation receipt and called the hotline to recall MY BAG OF DEATH.Ā
Here's to my Hippocratic oath to do no harm...
Sincerely,
Literally sick of your shit
As I unhooked my bra and threw it down onto my bedroom floor with the biggest sigh of relief today,Ā I thought to myself: the world would probably fight less about feminism and gender equality if GUYS HAD TO WEAR CUPS TO MAKE THEIR BALLS LOOK SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE EVERYDAY.

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It's been a while
It's been a while since I've been happy. Even in the longest breaks where I could do anything and everything I want, I just didn't want to budge. The worst part is that there's absolutely nothing stopping me from being happy. I'm being dragged again by Time; he's pulling me like we're late to the grandest gathering of greatest gratification...and I'm tripping to keep pace, as if I was in caught in a dream state--you know, the one where your feet cannot keep up with the urgency, no matter how much you will it.Ā
And then there's the constant fog of disappointment that will not clear. Disappointment from false hopes, disappointments from lost connections, disappointments from weak performances...It's all just a perpetual breeze of icy air that numbs my face even after I thought there was no more sense to be felt.Ā
But it's not that I've given up, it's definitely not that. I'm searching for that high, I'm yearning to unload the release of endorphin, but I can't seem to place where the key is. Is it satisfaction that my results reflects my work? Is it finding clarity in mixed signals? Is it forgiving myself for all the pity and anger? Is it trusting the world again?Ā
It's been a while since I believed.
A man that looked like Jesus told me:
When you walk on water for so long, you stop trying to be your best. Then you just become average. No one isĀ invincibleĀ without effort.