Dear White Girl
when you can be killed at birth for being born with a vagina
when you are harassed and treated like a lesser being for your gender
then you can celebrate Holi
then you can rock the Bollywood ‘princess’ look at your Halloween parties
then you can wear a fucking bindi.
This popped up on my dashboard on tumblr and I’d like to take a couple of paragraphs to address it in a manner that’s more eloquent than: “No. JUST NO. All the NO in the world.”
To the OP and everyone else who’s been reposting it:
1. Shame on you.
2. You’re so far off base.
3. I’m sure you’d like to believe you’re a feminist for having posted it, but as an egalitarian, I hate to break it to you, but the post is clearly ANTI-FEMINIST.
The “white girl” that you so easily cast aside isn’t responsible for the behaviour of radical male chauvinistic bastards that’s been reinforced by centuries of being part of patriarchal society. She isn’t responsible for the gang rapes, or you feeling inferior to men. She’s not responsible for the colour of her skin or yours. She, personally, isn’t responsible for the culturally-targeted advertisements that encourage fairer skin. She’s not responsible for the way you were brought up or the way certain members of your cultural society choose to treat others. She’s not responsible for your customs or traditions. Yes, it’s possible that decades ago her ancestors raped and pillaged yours, but the white girl you’re talking about today isn’t responsible for that, either. So, STOP. JUST STOP.
It’s possible she doesn’t have the same belief system that you do, or that she was brought up with more liberties than you were afforded but that’s all circumstance. Circumstance is something you find yourself in, and not always because of your own doing. You don’t always ask for the life that you live, you either earn it or it’s handed to you, like your culture. You can’t equate race with culture, and you can’t apply the broad “white girl” label to every female of Caucasian descent.
You so easily deride the “basic white girl/WASPs/JAPs” with all their stereotypes, yet you take offence to someone says you’re doing something something stereotypical brown.
But that’s not even the worst part; the worst part is that you believe the SPIRIT of your culture is burdened by rape, by superficial things like skin colour or by being portrayed as “exotic” by the media. Fuck you. Seriously, though, fuck you. The spirit of your culture is the best part of it.
I don’t see the white girls you speak of resenting your participation in festivities during Christmas, Easter, Hannukah, Passover or even Thanksgiving. I don’t see them telling you that you can’t be part of their culture because your ancestors didn’t fight in a World War or go through the Holocaust. Fuck you for being a hypocritical bigot.
Finally, maybe I’ve just led an exceptionally blessed and privileged life where I’ve never had to face total fucking assholes, but I’ve never had anyone tell me anything other than my culture was interesting and beautiful and they’d like to learn more about it. And I’m proud of that fact. So, I’ll happily ask my mother to help my best friend wear a Sari, and I’ll gladly help her make sure the bindi on her forehead is on straight. I have absolutely no qualms about aiding anyone in participating in Holi or Diwali or any other cultural activity that they whole-heartedly want to learn more about. And I hope, someday, you’ll gain the perspective and wisdom to do the same.
An extremely frustrated (and apparently, since it all comes down to colour for you) brown girl.
This caption is going to be long but I don’t really care. After a week of giving my everything and putting myself out there, I got this in the mail today and it reminded me who and/or what good friends are. They’re the people who expect nothing in return. They’re the people who’ll send you things in the mail when you least expect it. They’re the people who make you believe that it’s ALWAYS worth being nice to other people because karma exists and what goes around really does come back around.
Everyone asks me why I keep sending mail and I love to say it’s because it’s archaic and therefore got charm, but really it’s because: 1) I don’t want it ever going out of fashion; and 2) It never fails to put a smile on the recipient’s face. I’m currently the happiest little girl there ever was and so, I just want to take this opportunity to say: be kind to one another. Do things where you expect nothing in return because it all evens out.
“At the very end of your life you’re going to sit down at the table; you’re gonna shuffle out the good and the bad and it’s all going to make perfect sense to you when you figure out that in the accounting books it comes up completely even.”
Finally, Taylor, thank you for the beautiful earrings, sweetest words and, most importantly, always being an amazing friend!
So I’ll check the weather wherever you are Cause I want to know if you can see the stars tonight…
Ps. Ad Ad I internally died when I remembered saying: “I hope he plays split screen sadness. It’s one of my faves”
This is everything.
This is all the truest thing that has ever been, and I’m so glad I got to experience it with the best friend that has ever been.
"So, put your cellphones down, your friends will believe you.
Enjoy it while you’re still in town, time will deceive you.
'Cause what good is all of this work that you do on yourself if you can't really fly, fly, fly high?
And if you can’t let loose at a rock show in Brooklyn then where are you gonna find that sky?”
John Mayer Live at the Barclays Centre - 17th December, 2013
As we walked to the deli, the boy who was visiting for the weekend looked straight ahead and asked, “Should I expect to find a note that says, “I hate you, you fucking asshole.” in my baggage when I get back home?” I stared at him, bewildered at where he got his ideas from. I didn’t recall being unusually mean or bitchy when compared with my regular demeanour; I didn’t understand how the thought popped into his head.
Days later, it all makes sense. At the time, I was completely enamoured by him and even my on-paper pro-con list (where the cons outweighed the pros) couldn’t sway me against him. For months, I was pursued and wooed, I had little sweet nothings whispered to me over the phone. I was told how perfect I was; I was vetted. And then, when it went his way and it was all over, I was dropped.
I now realise that I was the first in a growing list of conquests. I don’t regret the decisions I made, but I regret being naïve enough to believe the things he said. I regret placing my trust in him and I should have known better than to think we were friends.
The fact that he didn’t once ask me whether I wanted to talk about what was happening should have tipped me off. Instead, I was only alerted to the situation when the hostile texts started arriving. There’s a fine line between constructive criticism and being straight-up awful to someone; the texts I received were nothing short of mean, bordering on rude.
"You are very much still growing up. Just watching you interact with people [showed signs of immaturity]. When everyone was at your place[,] for instance[,] you were screaming over other peoples conversations to make sure you were being heard. Maybe that’s rooted in insecurity, but it just screamed “focus on me.” I don’t mean to sound glib, but an inconsideration to let someone else speak because you need[ed] the attention was concerning.”
The texts felt like they were aimed at making me feel bad about myself. The words that called me immature and insecure felt like tiny daggers stabbing me where I was most vulnerable. There’s a difference between knowing someone has issues with security and playing into their insecurities. And, almost purposefully, he picked a subject that would undoubtedly be a point of contention. After the stories I’d willingly told him, I guess I walked into that last one.
I don’t regret my offer of friendship, but I just wish I’d known just how multifaceted this kid was before extending an olive branch. I wish I’d realised there was an ulterior motive. I know I’ll be prepared next time; I’ll be smarter and my heart will have it’s own little army to defend it. But until then, I’m not retaliating with mean words or back-and-forth character besmirchment.
"I feel like there was a more delicate way to phrase that and you didn’t choose to be nice about the way you said that. I’m sorry you felt that way around me but I’ve never made any excuses for the person I am. I don’t doubt that I’m the person who needs attention or who needs to be liked. But if, after everything you’ve heard me say about myself, you were still surprised, that’s on you. Yes, it’s a character flaw and you’ve done a great job of pointing that out - but sometimes subtlety is key. I’ll be here when you choose to find your manners, and not treat me like yesterday’s discarded conquest."
I was writing about him when he texted to ask if he should come over after work. Without a moment’s hesitation, I responded with, “DO IT.” The fact that he responded almost instantaneously with, “DEAL” made me laugh out loud. I decided to shelve the piece and get back to it later in the evening.
But, I no longer know what to write. I no longer know how to feel. My emotions, like the lines that define our relationship, are blurred.
He found me in my room finalising the last of my spreadsheets, listening to John Mayer croon Bold As Love. He cheekily asked me, “Do you even know who sang the original?” I shot him a glare and said, “Obvs. Jimi Hendrix. Give me a couple minutes? I need to finish this.”
He made himself at home as I yelled profanities at Microsoft Excel. Finally satisfied with the end product, I put my laptop away and focused my attention on him. He wouldn’t stop smiling, and for unknown reason I felt myself smiling right back.
The next hour was filled with the endless “What?” “Nothing. Whaaat?” “Nothing.” back and forth. And as we sat in bed, we briefly and vaguely discussed the blurred lines. As much as I wanted to talk about it, I didn’t want to broach the topic - I just wanted us to be on the same page; I wanted him to be on my page.
But it’s always more complicated than that, isn’t it?
Less than a fortnight ago he said he couldn’t date me because he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship; yet, he had introduced me to his family, called me his girlfriend that one time, kept referring to the thing we were in as dating and expressed his exclusivity.
Tonight, we talked of the possible outcomes and he almost immediately dismissed the most obvious direction our relationship was taking by saying he’d be too nervous to go down that route. When I asked him why, his response made my heart skip a beat, “Because I actually care about you.”
I turned away and told him I had nothing to say. He effortlessly turned me around to face him and said, “That’s impossible, you’ve always got something to say.” I pushed his face away and said, “Yeah, but I was taught that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” We both laughed.
When he left, there was a part of me that wanted him to sit with me through the evening and another part that desperately wanted to get back to work. I wanted us to be just friends, and at the same time I wanted so much more and a label.
I thought about it some more as I rested my weight on the windowsill, freezing, with the windows wide open, breathing in all the fresh air I possibly could. Seconds later, I swung the windows back shut, sat down at my desk and went back to cursing Excel.
No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it’s obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we’re frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won’t you be my valentine?
And we’ll both be safe ‘til St. Patrick’s Day
If our always is all that we gave, and we someday take that away; I’ll be alright, if it was just ‘til St. Patrick’s Day.
There’s no need for heartbreak warfare. It’s called ‘I love you’ — ‘I love you too’. ‘I need more love’ — ‘You got more love’, and you can get through life like that.
Shouldn’t you just, on days where you want more love, be like, ‘I had a bad dream that you were sleeping around; it’s really irrational, but just love me extra today’?
Why can’t we just have this thing where you just say, ‘Just love me extra today’? If I was with somebody and they said, ‘Love me extra today’, I would love them extra forever."
— John Mayer, Atlanta, 2010 (via mindofmaret)
Of late, I’ve found myself questioning the foundations of my morals. By 'the foundations', I don’t mean the Disney Princess Morals aspect of it all, but rather the reasoning behind why I chose to incorporate them into my life. And every so often, I can’t help but wonder whether I’d still have the same value system if I were more confident with my body.
When I talk about body confidence, I don’t mean body shape – that’s something I can control and, surprisingly, it’s something I’ve come to terms with. For the most part, I’m comfortable in my skin (i.e. comfortable with the person that I am), I’m just not sure that I’m comfortable with my skin.
It’s as though my skin chronicles my past. It tells the tales of when I was careless with myself, and my life. It recounts the story of the time I let myself go so far off the path I was supposed to be on. My skin narrates my many failures.
The silvery, raised stretch marks on the backs of my knees, sides of my hips and across my backside remind me of my inability to control portion sizes (aka that time I gained 22 pounds in 8 months). The fading scars on my shins remind me of the lengths I went to feel pretty and accepted by society.
The fact that I’m apprehensive of people seeing all my so-called imperfections lets me know that I’m still the same girl afraid of judgement, desperate to be liked and petrified of letting people in. The fact that I’m apprehensive of people seeing them makes me wonder whether they’re the only reason I’m so adamant about keeping my clothes on. The fact that I’m apprehensive of people seeing them makes me wonder whether I’d abandon my morals if suddenly blessed with perfect skin. The thought of being apprehensive of people seeing them plagues me when I’m silent and puts so much more than the clothes we’re wearing between us.