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murderwhitepeople:

A candle light vigil in Islamabad, for the victims of the school attack in Pesharwar Photograph: Anjum Naveed/AP

(via fuckyeahsouthasia)

micdotcom:

India shows the world what compassion looks like with #IndiaWithPakistan

The safety of a nation’s children trumps all.

No matter what problems the two countries have, Indians are putting aside their differences with Pakistanis today in a show of solidarity following an atrocious attack on a school in Peshawar. Taking a sign from #IllRideWithYou, some Indians are using the tag #IndiaWithPakistan on Twitter, proving that love and peace shouldn’t be contained within borders.

(via fuckyeahsouthasia)

youarenotyou:

poorlifechoicesblog:

humiliationsfree:

scribblymouse

this makes me think of a convo with a friend the other night about seeking validation that harm occurred from the one(s) who harmed you (in this case i was talking about my relationship with my parents, mostly my mother.)

“seeking validation that harm occurred from the one(s) who harmed you.”

wow. yes

(Source: angry-comics, via scaronhiatus)

(Source: marvelousmission, via dearbuddha)

“ The time for remorse would have been when my husband was yelling to breathe. That would have been the time for him to show some type of remorse or some type of care for another human being’s life- when he was screaming eleven times that he can’t breathe! So there’s nothing that him, or his prayers, or anything else would make me feel any different. No I don’t accept his apology. No I could care less about his condolences. No I could care less- he’s still working, he’s still getting a paycheck, he’s still feeding his kids. And my husband is six feet under, and I’m looking for a way to feed my kids now. Who’s gonna play Santa Claus for my grandkids this year, because he played Santa Claus for my grandkids…who’s going to do that now? ”

—    The widow of Eric Garner responds when asked if she accepts the officer’s apology for the murder of her husband (via kajar)

(via fromonesurvivortoanother)

“ Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to Western Union and Money Gram. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on. ”

—    Immigrants. First generation. || Ijeoma Umebinyuo. (via 5000letters)

(via 5000letters)

bearddel:

If you’re writing a political theory about something, and you can’t put it into words that would be comprehensible to the people the theory describes, get a new theory.

(Source: fatearthsociety, via oldgodsnewjobs-deactivated20151)

(Source: varunsdvns, via masha-allah)

debloodyfresh:

Jobe the pug

(via ourlimitedinfinity)