minute and minute shouldn’t be spelled the same
im not content with this content
i object to that object
I need to read what I read again
Excuse me but there’s no excuse for this
Someone should wind this post up and throw it in the wind
i hope you dont mind but you just fucked with my mind
fuck all of you
when i was little i actually questioned why girls were supposed to cross their legs and when i was told “because boys will look up your skirt” i said “then tell boys not to look up our skirts” and my grandma got really angry with me but my uncle thought i was great and gave me a high five
GUYS, THIS IS IMPORTANT. I’ve been a lifeguard for four years, and I didn’t fully appreciate this until a little kid jumped into the shallow end of the lap pool. He wasn’t flailing. His eyes were wide in panic and h would try and push himself off the bottom, but the water was right over his head. It took me a couple seconds to register what had happened, and fortunately, another swimmer right beside the kid managed to grab him when he saw my reaction.
My mother and I run a water safety non-profit organization and this is one of the things we teach.
In movies someone who is drowning always yells and screams and it’s very dramatic and obvious but in real life you really have to be paying attention
I was on holiday in Egypt when I was 14, and there was a 4-year-old Italian boy I had to save because no-one else even thought he was in trouble. Luckily, the water wasn’t too deep and only came up to my waist, but the kid was so small it covered his head. All he did was gasp for air and angle his head up, and tried kicking off the pool floor while reaching his hands up. I sat him on the edge of the pool in the shallow end and then his mother came over and thanked me.
I didn’t think much of it then, but I saved a life that day.
THIS COULD LITERALLY SAVE A LIFE.
After 2 years of lifeguarding and many more of competitive swimming I can verify this. Drowning signs are eerily quiet. It helps to catch them early. The pool I worked at had a large amount of regular clients. I’d always keep an extra lookout for people I didn’t recognize since I didn’t know their swimming ability. Their face aiming towards the sky is the first thing they’ll almost always do. Especially children.
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
I think it is unlikely that I will show in the book 4 LOK fire nation. So I decided to paint the entrance to the capital during the reign of his Zuko’s daughter . Of course (as I want the good fortune Azula) I drew two huge statues of the “heroes of Fire” Zuko and Azula like statues in Republic City.