next time someone tells you Muslim countries oppress women, let them know Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Turkey, Kosovo, Kyrgyzstan, and Senegal have all had female Presidents or Prime Ministers and 1/3rd of Egypt’s parliament is female but the US has yet to even have a female vice president and can’t say “vagina” when discussing female reproductive rights
I’m tired of being alone, but I don’t know how to be with someone. I don’t know what it means to be loved and in love. I don’t know what it is to give someone the power to destroy you while trusting that they will not, all while holding the same power in your own hands. I do not know how to be fearless or honest. I do not know how to love.
what I do know: how to be awkward beyond belief, how to be distant, how to be disappointing. But I also know that you are out there, and I know you will help me open up, you will help me learn how to be loved. And I will help you. I know this as truth deeper than anything else, but I’m just sitting here waiting for you to show up. I’m waiting for you to prove me right.
a happy couple might’ve got married today
someone might’ve kissed their best friend and realized they are gay today
someone might’ve found out they were officially cancer free today
someone might’ve finally finished their debut novel today
lots of interesting things might’ve happening today
we should celebrate
you’re the kind of person everyone needs in their lives
Please ask anything, I’ve been pretty bored lately
I’m wired because I get words stuck in my head. Take to day for example, I was reading a psychology research paper that had the word floccinaucinihilipilification in it, so naturally I looked up how to pronounce it, and now it is stuck on repeat in my head.
If you’re wondering, it means estimating as worthless. For how to pronounce it, I would recommend going to dictionary.com and listening to it.
We have heard that there is power in numbers, but do we understand how much power and meaning we have given numbers? Do we even know how many numbers to which we have given our identities? Have we become nothing more than the sum of these numbers?
From the time of conception we have been given numbers to define us: our due date (which is only correct 5% of the time), our birth order, the amount of money we will drain from our parent’s bank accounts over our lifetime. Then comes our actual birth date, a bracelet is slapped on our ankle and we acquire a new set of numbers which well-meaning strangers ask after in attempt to asses our worth: number of appendages, birth weight and length, and of course, the number of hours of labor we put our poor mothers through. But these are not the only numbers given at our birth that mean something; we are also gifted with a social security number, an identity of sorts. But it doesn’t stop here.
During the first few years of our life, age is a big deal, and our health or developmental success is judged based on whether or not “major milestones” coincide with the appropriate chronological number called age. And so the sick obsession begins. Each day, week, month, and year we accumulate new numbers to define ourselves, and with each new number, we loose a part of ourselves.
I will spare you the year-by-year description of each new number, but here’s a list to get things started: test scores, school ID, graduating class, college tuition, income level, number of vehicles, number of siblings, license plate number, drivers license number, new school ID, passwords, how far you are from home, height, weight, your pant size, and the circumference of various body parts, to name a few. And I think the last few are some of the most misused numbers in our society.
It is a common saying, “your are more than a number; you are more than your weight.” But can you blame us for emphasizing the importance of these numbers, memorizing and comparing them like the stats on the back of a baseball card? Our whole lives we have been told that we need numbers to know who we are, to know our worth, and it doesn’t help that we emphasize the value of appearance. It is a shame that in many ways we have devalued ourselves through numbers to the point that we are nothing more than a bar-code; something to be bought and sold.
This is me saying “I’m done.” I AM more than the sum of my numbers. I am an individual, and no matter how many numbers you assign to me, they will never tell you that I love dandelions, that sometimes I get homesick for adventure, or that I love animals. None of these numbers will ever tell you that I am human with all of the imperfections and beauty that comes with it. Numbers will never tell you anything about me.