Words Hurt and You Need To Stop.

One thing I have never, and probably will never understand is, why do people feel the need to interfere in other peoples’ lives?

I’ve been surrounded by people that just can’t go on without pushing others down and making them feel worse about themselves, my entire life and it’s about time I said something about it.

I just don’t get it. Microaggressions, bullying, cyberbullying, anonymous hate. All these things, why do they even happen? You know something went wrong, terribly wrong when people feel the need to throw disheartening remarks and assertions at other people throughout their daily lives.

What twisted thoughts might come to one’s mind that they can’t walk down a crowded hallway – in school or anywhere, really – without pushing someone down or shoving someone against the lockers. Or shouting appalling and hurtful words at fellow humans. Or pointing out their flaws/ lack of clothing etc. Or mocking someone only because of their sexuality. Do they not realize that just by saying a simple sentence that might be a joke to to them – they may just make the other person’s day worse.

People already have too much problems and difficulties to deal with in their daily life without some random stranger making it worse by a hundred percent. These people need to realize that just because pushing other people down gives them a false sense of superiority and ascendancy, does not mean they have a right to do that. Every human has a heart of their own, they have feelings, they have their own problems, they have stuff to deal with and every human being has those moments in life where they need help from other humans – even if they don’t ask for it.

A random person walking near you on the street, a random person standing next to you in a line at McDonald’s, a random person walking beside you in the hallway in school – you never know what’s going on in their heads. They might just be having the worst day, they might be looking forward to a party later that day, they might be thinking about what to eat for lunch or they might be thinking about the stuff they’ll say to their therapist later that evening, they might be thinking about taking their own lives that night and you’ll know because then again, they’re just another person walking with their heads hung low in a crowded hallway/ street/ bus stop. But what you should know, is that even though humans are just empty bodies with some weird organs keeping them alive, they feel things. They hear, they see, they touch and they feel.

“Hey fag! You forgot to paint your nails this morning!”

“Hey fatass! Cut down on the fries a bit, yeah? You wouldn’t want them to use you as a football instead, now would you?”

“Yo slut! You forgot to put on some clothes this morning!”

“Hey whore, who’s your boyfriend this evening?”

“Oh man, I can’t tell the difference between her, and a squashed pumpkin, they look so alike!”

“Ew, why is this cocksucker sitting next to me?”

These phrases, these words; they hurt more than you think. That saying, “Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me” is, tragically, false. Words do more harm than sticks and stones in my opinion. Stick and stones do physical damage, but these words, they mentally destroy a person. Boy, I’ve been there, I know. I still believe that it didn’t hurt half as much when they punched me in the gut, then it did when they told everyone I was a “filthy little bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone when in reality, her parents wish they had an abortion.”

I have only one thing to say.

Stop. Please stop.

Why does it matter if a guy likes to paint his nails, why is it a big deal if a girl has sex with more than 3 people, why do people lose their shit if a dude goes out in public wearing a skirt (HE CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS), why is it such a big deal if two guys are sexually involved with each other? How does that effect your life in any possible way? IT DOESN’T. A girl has full rights to sleep with any person she wants for as many times as she likes to, a guy has full rights to be in love with another guy, after all, isn’t it about being in love with a HUMAN and not their genitals? I have said this before, and I will say this again, and I will believe this ’til the day I die, that every single human being on this entire planet is entitled to their choices. They can do whatever they want UNLESS it’s doing harm to the planet, community or the environment. They should be able to be themselves, going out holding hands with the same sex should NOT be a big deal. “Slut” “fag” “whore” “bitch” “skank” “tranny” “duke” these kinds of words, they should not be acceptable to be spoken to fellow humans no matter what the case. ONE word can end lives, do you not realize that? A simple phrase can end a life, a simple judgement upon a person’s act or choice of lifestyle can lead that person to live the rest of their lives being scared to be themselves because OTHERS might not be okay with it.

This is ruining everything and it needs to stop. We are all humans, living in the same world, sharing the same sky, living on the same ground, breathing the same air, somethings so small such as belonging to different tribes and castes should not drift us apart and make us hate each other. This world is so big, every place, every continent, every country, every city and even every forest filled with living creatures, sent in this world as one, are supposed to live their lives as one. Religion, castes, tribes, cultures, ethnicity – these things, in fact do bring differences among humans but they are not supposed to divide us.

At the end of the day we’re all still humans, all of us are going to die someday, our bodies will turn to dust and your religion and your beliefs will not matter anymore because all there will be left of you, will be dust and bones.

So be nice, be humble, be human. Smile at strangers, give compliments, appreciate the efforts someone makes for you. Make others feel safe and content around you instead of pushing them down and make them curse their fate. Have a good day.


3 Components of Rape Culture and What You Can Do to Fight Back

Read this. Just do it.

Psychology Benefits Society

Fingers pointing at young woman

By Christin P. Bowman, MS, MA (Doctoral student in Critical Social-Personality Psychology at The Graduate Center, City University of New York)

**Trigger warning. This blog is about sexual violence.**

Let’s make something clear right from the start: Rape is caused by rape culture.

Rape culture has many ingredients, and like any successful recipe, once you blend them together, it’s harder to taste the individual flavors. Rape culture is so entrenched in our society, and its components so ubiquitous, we may sense that something doesn’t taste right, but be at a loss to pinpoint the problem.

This blog will break down the main components of rape culture and then give you concrete ways to combat it.

#1: Power, Anger, & Hyper-masculinity

While it may be true that men do the vast majority of the raping, men who rape did not become rapists in a vacuum.

Our society values men…

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Go Away.

Not that anybody cares but I’m so pissed off today, for absolutely no reason. Everything is irritating me and I just don’t feel like doing anything at all.

I don’t want to get all dressed up even though I was supposed to catch up with my friends today but I just can’t seem to get out of bed.

I’ve been lying here for about 2 hours now, just listening to music and re-reading a book I’ve read like 7 times.

Even a simple notification on my phone is pissing me off because ugh.

Somebody motivate me to get up and get a shower.

I don’t even feel like typing now. I hate being a teenager. Fucking mood swings ugh.

x x x

Anywho, have a good day! X

The Guy On The Other Side Of The Road

I went to the bazaar today. I stayed in the car when my mom went to the shoe store. There was this guy sitting on the opposite side of the road. He kept rocking back and forth. I wondered if he was high on heroine because he had all these needle marks all over his right hand. I couldn’t help but wonder what horrible thing might have happened to him for him to end up like this, hopeless and lost, sitting in the corner of an abandoned building under a dead lamppost.

One thing led to another and I found myself thinking about my own life. How time flew by so fast without me ever really realizing what happened, how, where and why. The image of me having a tea party with my stuffed toys at the age of 8 came before my eyes and unexpected tears escaped my eyes as I tried to blink them away. I’m such a sappy sob sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean all the time.


It’s funny how things change in the blink of an eye, isn’t it?


One minute I’m kinda just sitting there in the backseat of a Toyota Corolla casually singing along to New Politics, and the next minute I’m all teary eyed. I still don’t know if I cried because of that guy or because of my own memories flooding back to me but I was crying and I needed to stop before my mum saw me.

And now I’m home and it’s been about 7 hours since that incident and I still can’t stop thinking about it. Not that it was that much of a big deal but for some odd reason; I’ve yet to know, it made me feel inferior to my previous self, and I don’t know if that makes any sense whatsoever but yeah.

Now I’m sitting here munching on cookies as I write this post. And I’m not good with putting my thoughts into words that might or might not reach another soul so I’m just going to try and pull myself together. For at least now.


If you’re still reading this, thank you. Thank you for taking the time out of your day and reading about the somewhat riveting occurrence that took place in my usually boring and tedious life. I appreciate it

Who Even Am I?

This is my second post here so I thought it would only be fair to introduce myself, I’m Yaz (not my real name but I like it this way so yeah). 16. Born and raised in Pakistan.


I like to think I’m not the person people around me make me out to be, but I have to agree with the fact that I am, indeed, an arrogant person. If you were to call me selfish and disoriented, I wouldn’t disagree.


In a world so big, full of people so obnoxious, I’m only trying to make it through without getting stabbed in the chest by a number of agitated conversations that I don’t understand with people I don’t want to be around.


The place I grew up in was packed with people pretending to be happy while surviving with no sign of actual lifeness (I don’t care if that’s not a word, I like it). They like to pretend they’re happy, that their lives are how they were supposed to be, like things are okay. When in reality nothing is okay, it never is. You keep pretending things are fine, and then there comes a time when you get used to not being okay. You don’t know how you got there but now you’re standing in the middle of a darkened hallway screaming your lungs out and nobody listens. They’re all there, right in front of you, but they don’t answer.


It’s funny how quickly things change, I remember having my 10th birthday when my mum gave me a giant dollhouse, like it happened yesterday. But the perception of myself and the person I used to be when I was younger now seems like a very distant memory.


This post is getting more and more dispiriting by the minute so I’m gonna stop.


On a lighter, and more positive note, have a good day! And remember, things may be bad, but they’ll never be as bad as they seem, they’ll get better. That’s a promise.

Stop Saying “That’s So Gay!” — Six Microaggressions That Hurt

Psychology Benefits Society

Sad Asian teenage boy

By Kevin L. Nadal, PhD (Associate Professor of Psychology, John Jay
College of Criminal Justice – City University of New York)

When I was a little kid, I used to hear my brothers, cousins, and friends say things like “That’s so gay!” on a pretty regular basis. I would usually laugh along, hoping with all my might that they didn’t know my secret.  My parents and other adults in my life would tell me things like “Boys don’t cry” or “Be a man!” which essentially was their way of telling me that being emotional was forbidden or a sign of weakness.

When I was a teenager, there were a few boys at my high school who ridiculed me, almost everyday. When I walked by them in the halls, they called me a “faggot” or screamed my name in a flamboyant tone.  I learned to walk by without…

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“You Can’t Do That! Stories Have to Be About White People!”

Media Diversified

Young Writers of Colour

by Hip Hop Teacher

I’ve spent almost two decades teaching in English primary schools, which serve multiracial, multicultural, multifaith communities. I want to explore two things I have noticed.

1)    Almost without exception, whenever children are asked to write a story in school, children of colour will write a story featuring white characters with ‘traditional’ English names who speak English as a first language.

2)    Teachers do not discuss this phenomenon.

Furthermore, simply pointing these two things out can lead to some angry responses in my experience.

Why are you making an issue of race when children are colourblind?”

is an example of the sort of question that sometimes gets asked.

Well let’s look at that. If children were writing stories where the race of characters was varied and random, there might be some merit in claiming that children are colourblind. However, even proponents of racial…

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On Writing, Life, and Margaret Atwood

The Paperbook Blog

University is a strange institution. Ever since I can remember it has been preached to me that it is a necessity in achieving life’s dreams, an establishment designed to enlighten and educate me. Without completing a university degree, I was told, I would end up going nowhere. I would be bound for failure, shunted off to one side in the employment game. A great Tertiary Entrance Exam score saw me enrol in Law, for no other reason than that I could. What followed was a year and a half of partying punctuated by the occasional lecture or exam, before I dropped out spectacularly in a haze of tears, recriminations and gin.

Now here I am, six years later, working my way through a different university degree. Does this mean that I finally bought into the concept of tertiary education, a convert to the institution? Not at all. Rather, and this is painful to…

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Cigarettes: Just Like Candy

Carla Prieto

Cigarettenot my hand

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

My love affair with cigarettes began at an early age. The first one I ever tried had no filter and had a bumpy and chalky texture. It came in a long, flimsy, red box that read “KINGS” with a crown underneath, which I had gotten in a goodie bag from a friend’s birthday party. It was candy.

I took mine out and began chewing it after my mom took hers out and lit it, the smoke billowing elegantly above her and blending into the hot summer air like thin branches of an infinitely tall and bare acacia. She sat on our hardwood porch, lined with impatiens and gardenias and buzzing with bees, while I sat on the green summer grass not too far away, watching her lounge coolly with wonder and admiration.

At four or five, I didn’t know much about cigarettes. Why didn’t…

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Voices from the Syrian Tragedy: Three New Poems



Fawaz Azem has translated three new Syrian poems — one from Dima Yousf and two from Nihad Sayed Issa — all responding, in some way, to the nation’s current landscape:

By Fawaz Azem

Dima Yousf, courtesy of the author. Dima Yousf, courtesy of the poet.

Dima Yousf, a Syrian Palestinian born in 1986, graduated from Damascus University with a degree in Arabic literature and a teaching diploma. She teaches Arabic in Damascus schools, and is pursuing a graduate degree “but with a stay of execution.”  A recent post on her Facebook page reads “I have so many stories to tell, if I survive.”

Yousf’s poem is untitled.


Oh, if I only had a knife
like those that are forgotten on necks,
after massacres.
If I only had the fingers of a murderer
and his unblinking eyes.
If I could only utter the cry of his victim
the moment he gathers in the voices
from all four corners…

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