8 Reasons Young Americans Don’t Fight Back: How the US Crushed Youth Resistance


  1. Student-Loan Debt.
  2. Psychopathologizing and Medicating Noncompliance.
  3. Schools That Educate for Compliance and Not for Democracy.
  4. No Child Left Behind” and “Race to the Top.”
  5. Shaming Young People Who Take EducationBut Not Their SchoolingSeriously.
  6. The Normalization of Surveillance.
  7. Television.
  8. Fundamentalist Religion and Fundamentalist Consumerism.

Read More

AND soon, police states.

(via knowlizzycurran)

To suggest that one’s belly, body hair or tattoo is ‘distasteful’ and should therefore be covered in the name of etiquette is the very worst sort of body fascism. If your children are traumatised by the sight of a fat person in a bikini, a bit of cellulite or a caesarean scar, then may I tentatively suggest that you aren’t raising them correctly. If seeing someone hairy wearing something skimpy renders you ‘unable to eat your lunch’ then I’m afraid my diagnosis of the problem is with your brain, not their body.

I’M ready to throw in the towel. Pack my bags and hitch a ride to goodness knows where. At this point, anything else that I’d remotely like to do would be infinitely better than this dead-end drudgery that is misnamed as my career.

Because lying to your kids about sex helps nobody. Telling them that sex is “only between mommies and daddies” is a lie that leads to confused, hormone charged teenagers. Telling them that sex is “only something that happens when two people love each other very much” is a lie that causes hormone charged teenagers to confuse “love” with “lust,” or “obsession.” It leads to leaps of logic like, “If I have sex with them, we must be in love.” Or worse- “If I love them, I have to have sex with them.” And how many teenage tragedies are based on that misconception?


when girls press their whole body against you when they hug, it means they like you a lot. also, they’re measuring your body to determine how long it will take them to eat your flesh, a technique shared by boa constrictors

1. AS a teen I used to own a pet boa constrictor and a Burmese python.

2. Now, I’d much rather be hugged like a boa constrictor than by a boa constrictor. 

(via livefitandhealthy)

When It’s Time…

"KAPAG oras mo na, oras mo na.”

(“When it’s your time (to die), it’s your time.”)

For a long time I’ve been ambivalent about this saying and the mindset behind it, because I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with it, aside from the callous, cavalier, and rather ignorant attitude it stems from. 

Then I realized: If you truly adhere to that maxim, please do us all a favor and jump off a ten-storey building. After all, if it isn’t your time yet, you’ll survive the fall.

"Kapag oras mo na, oras mo na."

Tell that to the innocent civilians who were killed at war. The murder victims of police brutality. Animals that were tortured and killed for fun and profit. Patients that couldn’t afford proper medical care. Tell that to yourself when one of your loved ones meets their end at the hands of injustice.

It’s nothing more than a stupid saying perpetuating a stupid belief from stupid people who hold little regard for life.

Another Day, Another Loss

LAST night, illness claimed another friend. She was just a few years older than me.

I’m still trying to make sense of it — after having lost several friends and loved ones, after having survived both physical and emotional demise, after seeing and hearing about it everyday on the news, on my plate, and in the mirror — it still befuddles me how unsettling death can be, especially if it’s someone you know.

She wasn’t even close to me. We only had a few conversations as fellow mothers with common interests, and connected later on Facebook. Our paths crossed briefly, with a tiny chance that the same camaraderie we shared will find us again. So why does her passing hurt?

I weep, but not for her. I’m crying for her young daughter, who will now go through life as an orphan with a mental condition on her shoulders. I mourn for another tangible presence erased permanently. Most of all, I weep at the fact that her death is a stark reminder of our impermanence, that all we have and all we are will soon be gone forever. 

It isn’t death that makes us ache, it’s the loss.


It also doesn’t help that early this morning, I had a nightmare about the death of a close loved one and it felt like one of my limbs was torn off. 


Still, life continues.

MY email inbox is filled with job openings that I may be suited for — SEO writer, advertising copywriter, editor, language instructor, supervisor, marketer, branding officer — jobs that I can excel at and make good money from. Jobs that can bring me status and recognition in my field. Jobs I know I can do well.

But now I know that all I want to do is to make beautiful things just because they make me happy. That’s where the magic is.