Leave a Light On For Me @breakoutofthemadness - Tumblr Blog

Want a dog? Best to figure out if you can handle it financially before you decide to get one

I’ve really been meaning to write about this, just because so many people seem to buying and selling dogs on Ateneo Trade. The expenses don’t end—ever. Best to know what you’re getting yourself into if you really want a dog!

#puppy parenting #illy #dogs #puppies #taking care of dogs #blog #via storiesbylara.com

davst

storiesbylara

Oh yeah. This happened.

#lol at me

thegoodvybe

quotethat

Perhaps we should love ourselves so fiercely that when others see us they know exactly how it should be done.

Rudy Francisco (via quotethat)

#what i learned in 2016

godswollen-deactivated20171014

Give me / liberty or give me everything you’ve ever loved.

Brenda Shaughnessy, Arachnolescence (via godswollen)

corvidaet

text piece//

#god i love this

shaefierce-blog

mystery-bazaar

Scotland

theartofanimation

Tara Williamson - http://merlot.deviantart.com - https://twitter.com/taradrawstuff - http://taradrawstuff.tumblr.com - http://www.taraywilliamson.com

youaremyyheavenn

tokillabookworm

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

nathanielorion

THE GOOD FIGHT

God said to fight the good fight, so I fought, and it was good.

Abel, we have been on the precipice of each other all our lives, bruising our tongues on each other’s names, always ready to light our sleeves on fire as an offering, ready to spit blood out the sides of our mouths.

I hope someday it looks less like gasoline when it hits the concrete.

We shoved each other up against walls and called it anger, called each other by our own damn names, didn’t know how to feel when we started to answer to them.

Abel, I loved you first, and with your blood on my hands, I have ensured that I also loved you last.

Let this be my covenant to you, my sacred vow:

When I write poems about your body, I swear I am talking about your corpse.

Abel, I wear your clothes so that I may know what it means to be inside you.

Abel, the mark of Cain is a bruise sucked into my throat.

We always said we wanted the story where our bones were buried side by side, back to back, but I didn’t mean it like this, I never wanted to be the one doing the burying.

Selfish, maybe, the desire to write the version of the story where I got to die first, but humor me, Abel.

In this paragraph, you are the one who is alive, and I am the one rotting and making the land more fertile.

God said to make good on my promises, so I made promises, and they were good.

God said good riddance, so I walked out the door, and it took fifteen steps to realize how close good is to goodbye.

#cain and abel my favorite bible story

storiesbylara

I realized that my posts have been really serious lately. I originally wanted this to be all about my travels, and as expected, it evolved to other things. I haven't even gotten down to writing...

I wrote about my experiences with sexual harassment, and it’s never the victim’s fault. I hope you guys can take the time to read this.

library-mermaid-blog

On Holocaust Remembrance Day, this twitter account is posting the names and photos (when available) of refugees turned away from America who became victims of Naziism. #NoBanNoWall #RefugeesWelcome

(Please leave this caption in place.)

2013: I was wearing a black crop top shirt, and high waisted shorts. I was commuting home from Shaw blvd. Loads of women lining up in the girls only compartment, so I changed lanes to the nearest mixed compartment because I was in a rush to get home. Because there is never enough space in the MRT, our bodies were pressed against each other. I clutched my bag to my chest, making my boobs look bigger than they really are. Next thing I know, I hear a camera shutter go off, and a flash went off on my boobs. I look up and a guy, much taller than me, was holding his phone to my chest, a sheepish smile on his face. I never said anything, even if I knew he had just taken a photo of my cleavage.

June 2014: My first couple of days as working girl. I was walking home from work towards the Ortigas MRT station. I changed into a pair of loose shorts (I think I was wearing a skirt for work, and I changed to be comfortable). I walk fast, and I clutch an umbrella with my right hand (I have a strong swing) in case anyone ever tries to attack me. On the side walk near Poveda, beside EDSA, while walking, I felt someone grab my ass. I stop. Crash into an older woman walking my way (because I stopped out of nowhere), and looked around. A couple of paces back, a guy (walking the other way) is walking slowly. He looks back and he laughs when he sees me looking his way. I remember wanting to run after him. And hit him with my umbrella. Punch him on the face. But I don’t. I don’t even open my mouth to say anything. I pull at my shorts to make them lower, to cover more skin. And I continue walking, in silence, defeated, even if I was sure he was the one who had literally just grabbed my ass.

December 2014: My officemates and I were walking towards SM to eat dinner. We just came from work, so I was wearing a jacket, a skirt, and was carrying all my bags. On the way to SM, in front of El Pueblo, a group of boys (kids??) started to swarm our way. They held their hands out and the first thing I thought was I’m going to get robbed. I transferred my bag to my chest, and mid movement, I felt hands on my boobs, and in between my legs. I look up, push the boy off me, and scream obscenities while he and his friends ran away, laughing. My friends asked me, are you okay? I wasn’t sure. I was shaking while we walked. A cold sweat came over me. While they sat to eat at the Korean restaurant, I went to the bathroom to wash off the grease from their hands from between my legs. I didn’t cry. I couldn't even process what happened. If it really did happen. None of it felt real. They must’ve been 12, 13, 14 years old. I told my dad a couple of months later. Out of frustration at all the victim blaming and sexual harassment going on in the streets.

And before anyone asks, "Well, what were you wearing that day?” Yes, all these times I was wearing shorts or a skirt. No, it’s not my fault for not deciding to wear jeans that day. No, it’s not my fault for showing off too much legs. No, it’s not my fault for wanting to be comfortable. No, it’s not my fault for walking alone. Or walking at night. No, it’s not my fault for entering a mixed compartment instead of waiting another two, three train rides to get into the girls only compartment. No, it’s not my fault for deciding to commute instead of spending hundreds on a cab/grab/uber ride home.

When I hear about women who get sexually harassed, and the men who get away with it, I always catch myself wondering. If I had just called the guy out, and asked to see his phone instead of keeping quiet, then maybe he would’ve learned his lesson and not done it again. Maybe the people in the train would’ve been shocked and stood up for me. Or maybe they’ll learn vicariously that you can fight back and not take in stride. If I had just run after the guy and hit him with my umbrella, maybe he won’t do it again? If I dragged those kids to the nearest police station, or told them na masama yun instead of just screaming obscenities at nothing, maybe they’ll learn that it’s not okay to just stick their hands up some girl’s skirt. But then it hits me after, what if I did that, and I ended up hurt, or dead? Ended up being called a liar, and a slut for wearing shorts and skirts? What if, even if I was the victim, they’d say it was my fault?

I know my experiences are insignificant compared to women who have been through much worse, but all I want to say with this is THIS IS WHAT WOMEN HAVE TO GO THROUGH. EVERY SINGLE DAY. On the streets. At work. At home. In places we thought were safe. We want to fight back, but we can’t. We’re afraid. And those of us who do fight back, we get called LIARS. OR WE’RE TOLD (TRUE STORY!!!) HAYAAN MO NA. PATAWARIN MO NA. Instead of hating on the man who masturbated in a jeepney, people (some were women!!!) commented that the photo was edited. Instead of listening to a young girl who said she was molested in a UV by an upperclassman, a catholic university calls her a liar. When a young girl told her mother she was molested, the mother said, hayaan mo na. Patawarin mo na. Let it go. Just forgive him.

Where’s the justice in that? #notovictimshaming #noitsnotmyfault

#words #no to victim shaming #no its not my fault

writerscreed

Writers Creed Ask Game

We’ve seen these ask games running around all over tumblr, so what do we, Writers Creed, do? We make our own! Here are questions made by writers for writers. If you are a writer, reblog this and let people uncover all your writing truths!

1. What got you into writing?

2. Favorite writer

3. Where do you get inspired most?

4. What inspires you most?

5. What is your surrounding like while you’re writing?

6. Favorite book

7. Last time you read a book? What was it?

8. Favourite quotes

9. Tag 5 favourite blogs that you admire

10. What does writing mean to you.

11. Tag a writer you are a fan of and type in your feelings

12. Prose or Poetry? Why?

13. How do you overcome writer’s block?

14. Have you ever read your poem out loud in public? If so, where?

15. Favorite poet

16. Do you write everyday?

17. How do you integrate personal and general aspects of your writing? In other words, how do you blend your experiences with the subject of the poem?

18. Do you enjoy collaborating? If so, what do you like about it?

19. Describe your writing style in a sentence.

20. What is the favorite thing you’ve written so far? why?

21. Confession time: have you ever written a poem while driving?