Viola Davis talks about the childhood hunger problem in the U.S. at Variety’s annual Power of Women luncheon. (x)
And it never goes away. It never, never goes away.
I grew up with immense food uncertainty. I did all these things, and I did most of them with two much smaller sisters. I resented them for getting to eat before I did when I was nine and they were two and three, because I was old enough to understand hunger, and they weren’t. I hated my mother for years because we never had anything to eat, and it took until well into my adulthood to realize that she had hated herself, too.
I start asking people what they want to do about dinner starting around nine in the morning when at a convention or other vacation spot. I need to know. Even if the plan is just “oh, food court” or “oh, we have those leftovers,” I need someone who is not me, someone who is less wrecked over their relationship with food, to promise me that I am still allowed to eat.
It never goes away.
Childhood hunger is never satiated.
I have never been in straits quite that dire, but…there was an odd stretch of my childhood when we had very limited food. My mother was very depressed and working unspeakably long hours. Sometimes when she came home, it was easier just to let her sleep than to nag her about food. When I had exhausted cooking everything I knew how to cook (it wasn’t much) I wouldn’t eat. (I imagine she didn’t either.) We had very little money for groceries anyway. There was food in the pantry, since it was my grandmother’s house, and she’d stocked it, but it was like twenty bottles of bulk bbq sauce and expired cans of crushed tomato and stuff. I didn’t know how to turn that into food. Possibly there was no way. Some nights—this was back when you could get tacos for 39 cents at Taco Bell—we would take a dollar and eat and then she would go back to sleep.
The nadir of this came during one summer, when I didn’t have school lunches to fall back on, and so I would frequently go a day or two without eating. I didn’t really feel like I was being starved, because it was a thing I was choosing to do, to help out. I think I believed on some level that if I bothered my mother, she would find a way to fix it, I just didn’t want to bother her because she was so tired.
We got food stamps a little while after that, and it was…I can’t really explain what that was like. We couldn’t believe we were being allowed to have this much food and that it was okay. Mom cried a bit, I think. That whole summer was like we were in this weird little bubble and it wasn’t as good as other people’s bubbles, but it was suddenly so much better in there.
Anyway, TL;DR, anybody who says food stamps are for lazy people, you can unfollow me now and kindly fuck yourself on the way out.
"Aromantics and asexuals are basically straight"
nice heteronormativity y’all
For me, finding out I was asexual was the easy part. It just clicked. The hard part was and still is accepting I’m asexual and that it’s completely normal to feel how I feel.
without background music. - a lot of people asked me if I could post the scene. So, here it is.
please, don’t take it and repost it/use it in fan videos/or upload it on YT without my permission. Removing the BG music takes a lot of time and effort. So be fair. Thank you.
"Protests became violent when demonstrators threw a tear gas canister back at the police" will always be one of the clearest example of the fucked up way police violence is naturalized and legitimized.
I need feminism because “Who hired a stripper” shouldn’t be the first thing said to me when I walk into a welding job.
women in trades are treated like such fucking shit.
NO I’M STILL STUCK ON THIS WHY WOULD ANYONE SAY THIS TO A WOMAN HOLDING A BLOWTORCH
DUDE I was all omg must show ro and then DUH it’s you I’m reblogging it from.
I’m not sure if these would be considered selkies. I just felt like drawing seal-mermaids… imagine how cuddly they would be j_j
Her li’l whiskers!!
I will always reblog this because it is the cutest thing ever.
When an actor stumbles into their fandom on Tumblr:
When Orlando Jones stumbles into his fandom on Tumblr:
theorlandojones really should see this one… ;)
Approved with some slight proposed modifications:
When an actor stumbles into their fandom on Tumblr:
When Trollando stumbles into his fandom on Tumblr:
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
*runs to target- i need to get my babydoll one for her 1st bday