For those who have missed it, a tourist in Hawaii decided it would be fun to chuck a rock (a BIG rock) at a monk seal. He missed, but he was captured on video, and when told it was illegal to interfere with them, said "I'm rich, I can pay the fine."
Is the best part that he got doxxed? No.
Is the best part that he got tracked down by a local and beaten? No.
Arrested on state at federal charges, looking at up to 5 years and 50K? Nope.
The best part is the local city council's reaction.
And the best part of that is the look on the attorney's face.
When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.
Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.
So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.
Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.
One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.
It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."
The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.
Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.
It missed my lilac by inches.
The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.
Hello, everyone who scheduled this post to remind themselves to check in - which seems to be, uhh, quite a lot?? First of all, thank you for the interest and all the lovely notes on this post. It means a lot.
The lilac is doing very well! It's got almost a dozen new little branches and it's covered in more leaves than ever before. It looks so, so healthy - and that's where it's prioritizing its resources. No flowers this year, because the lilac has chosen essential growth and fundamental health over ornamentation and reproduction.
It's a good choice, I think. It looks so good. So many little leaves, so much new growth. Bits I thought were going to be dead are beautifully green. I decided not to take pictures of it; something about it felt wrong to do.
The other lilacs in the yard have bloomed, though, and I did get pictures of those. Plus the little potted one on my deck, which has teeny little flower buds on it.
I hope that you'll all be here next year to check for flowers with me again. Because you really never know.
And who knows? Maybe you'll have flowers to show me, too. I certainly hope so.
horror movie showing a child’s drawing of the monster or ghost or whatever but instead of a little kid and crayons they’re like a preteen and it’s manga style
.A person with a compassionate and tender heart, dreaming of a better tomorrow. Imagine waking up to find yourself surrounded by ruins ,everything you once knew, gone. This is my reality and the reality of my family. The war has shattered our home, our dreams, and our hopes for the future. I’m not asking for much , only for a chance to rebuild my life, to travel, to start again, and to restore the home that once brought us warmth and safety. Your sup-port, even the smallest contribution, can he-lp me take the first step, toward a new beginning toward a life filled with hope instead of despair. He-lp me rebuild, travel, and bring life back to my home.
I’m going through unimaginable pain, and you might be my only hope to survive. Your kindness could be the difference between despair and safety. Please, show mercy. every don-ati-on helps. Your support can save a life.
Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
christianity being a real facet of peoples lives instead of something you grow out of is killing me what do you mean youre 19 and still believe that mission trips are a positive force in the world
listening to a man break up with his partner on the train and the first sentence I heard was "I just don't appreciate you cheating on me six different times, once with my own father."
Words are no longer enough to capture the tragedy my family and I endure.
My name is Wedad Shadi, I am 15 years old, and I live in Gaza, Palestine.🇵🇸
Our home was completely destroyed, and now we live in a torn, fragile tent. We are a family of 7, and my mother, father, and my little sister Mira were injured when our house was bombed.
My mother and Mira are in urgent need of medical treatment, but we have nothing to pay for their care, not even food to survive.
My mother and my sister were injured during the war. I am terrified of losing them… please, don’t leave me without my mother and sister. They need urgent help to survive.
They desperately need medicine and medical treatment, as shown in the videos. Every moment without help is a struggle for their lives.
Please, I beg you… save them, help us, and give them a chance to live. 🙏💔
I have started school, but I could not register because I cannot afford the fees.
Please, I beg you to help us. Donate to save my mother and my innocent little sister before it’s too late. Every contribution can save a life and bring hope to a family in desperate need.
Every day we wake up to the same reality: destroyed homes, no safety, no stability, and needs that keep growing.
People think the pain paused… but for us, it never did.
Even with a so-called “ceasefire,” nothing has really stopped.
The explosions, the drones, the fear — the violations never ended.
And our suffering definitely didn’t.
Your support is the only reason many of us manage to keep going.
Your donation 🙏🙏 — no matter how small — can mean medicine, food, warmth, and a little bit of dignity in a life that’s been stripped of everything.
Please, stand with us. Don’t let this struggle fade from the world’s attention.
We still desperately need you to get back on our feet.
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Hello, my name is Mickey from Michigan USA and I am raising funds for Wedad… Mickey Dee needs your support for Support Wedad's Journey to Sa
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