Gaza is not the most beautiful of cities.
Her coast is not bluer than those of other Arab cities.
Her oranges are not the best in the Mediterranean.
Gaza is not the richest of cities.
(Fish and oranges and sand and tents forsaken by the winds, smuggled goods and hands for hire.)
And Gaza is not the most polished of cities, or the largest. But she is equivalent to the history of a nation, because she is the most repulsive among us in the eyes of the enemy – the poorest, the most desperate, and the most ferocious. Because she is a nightmare. Because she is oranges that explode, children without a childhood, aged men without an old age, and women without desire. Because she is all that, she is the most beautiful among us, the purest, the richest, and most worthy of love.
Fall in love with someone who wants you, who waits for you. Who understands you even in the madness; someone who helps you, and guides you, someone who is your support, your hope. Fall in love with someone who talks with you after a fight. Fall in love with someone who misses you and wants to be with you. Do not fall in love only with a body or with a face; or with the idea of being in love.
anons be like “for a social justice blog you sure are mean. why are you such a bitch. where is the equality you cunt. fucking asshole. i thought you guys all preached about love. bitch. what type of justice is this. so mean.”
my brother is in the seventh grade
his favorite school lunch food is chicken nuggets.
No, seriously. He and his twerpy friends eat those things like there’s no tommorow.
They sit in the middle of the lunch room, right near the dessert cart, and rush up to the window where the sweet old lunch ladies give them piles of mashed potatoes and slices of pizza.
[those darned kids]
they eat as many chicken nuggets as they can, before running up and asking for seconds, then thirds, while those sweet grey-haired ladies giggle and say things like
"If you keep eating those, you’ll turn into a chicken nugget!"
"You’re a hungry kid, aren’t you! No wonder, you use so much energy playing football!"
The whole room laughs
growing boys, stuffing themselves and letting barbeque sauce soak their ralph lauren uniform polos.
i was in seventh grade
my favorite food was chicken nuggets.
no, seriously. On the second day of school i learned that they’re the easiest to hide, you can just stick them under the mashed potatoes and save 400 or so calories by getting away without eating them before heading out to recess.
[four months later my best friend was diagnosed with an eating disorder]
while the boys were already outside claiming all the good four square balls,
i was in the lunch room
sitting in the back table
right next to the bathroom
hiding my chicken nuggets
and asking my best friend to eat something
"one chicken nugget won’t hurt you"
"just have some of the side salad, or drink some of the milk. it’s only 90 calories, see?"
Why can’t they call us growing girls
Don’t they see us shrinking
I should be learning how to do a cartwheel, not waiting outside the bathroom while my best friend, my lifelong partner in crime coughs her guts up because she isn’t “feeling too well.”
My brother comes home with sunburns
i came home with the smell of vomit
and her mother’s copy of cosmopolitian
stuffed into my backpack with my glitter pencils and ipod nano.
both my brother and my best friend ended seventh grade in recovery;
my brother with a sprained ankle
my best friend with bulimia.
that’s what you get for being a growing boy
and a shrinking girl.