→ Hugo
ojovivo

blake kathryn
dirt enthusiast
No title available

No title available
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Keni
No title available

if i look back, i am lost
RMH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

tannertan36
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER
h

@theartofmadeline
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

shark vs the universe

No title available
we're not kids anymore.

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia

seen from South Korea

seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from T1
seen from Japan

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@jaylynch3133-blog
→ Hugo
So sexuality is weird
For as long as I can remember I have been bullied for my lack of masculinity; nothing excess just standard dancing instead of football vibe. Gay slurs were standard despite my heterosexuality but I learnt to deal with it, moreso embrace my more feminine personality and work on myself. I considered it a personal thing rather than a sexuality thing; I believed I was bullied because who I was as a person whether I was annoying, ugly or just boring. So I decided to work on myself by becoming ,what I believe to be, more charismatic as well as learning to maintain eye contact, keep a conversation and be somewhat charming. Without a father figure this was obviously hard + having ADD / ADHD didn’t make my situation any easier. Years went by and I believed I had it down pat but I became a shell of my formal self to embody the cliche. I became, and still am, depressed and chronically anxious. I disappeared for my peers, friends and family but I’m slowly coming back after 5 years of emotional disassociation. With that came a different kind of anxiety. Sexual anxiety.
So life is taking a weird turn, as expected, but it’s a journey of acceptance, not a race. Although sometimes I find myself trying to push more towards one sexual preference and viewing the other as taboo, I kinda keep refreshing in my head that it’s not as bad as “they” have convinced me it is. Just like a preference to music, I, along with everyone else, can have a preference in terms of sexuality.
My practise essay for Advanced English inspired by a lack of a father figure and a desire for appreciation. Thanks Dad!
Question 2 (15 marks) Among Others … is a collection of different pieces of writing about individuals finding their place in a community. Compose a piece of writing which would be suitable for inclusion in this collection. Use ONE of the sentences below as the first sentence of your imaginative writing.
If you don’t have a capacity for solitude, you will always be lonely.
OR
My little world started to reveal itself to me.
OR
The gravel, small as peas, moved beneath their feet and from it a faint dust rose, the perfume of the town.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“If you don’t have a capacity for solitude, you will always be lonely”
His last words rang in my head endlessly, day by day and night by night. Like the curse of the Pharaohs, it plagued my life corroding my time, my work and my hobbies. My father’s last words weren’t uncharacteristic of him but nonetheless horrific. He’d always been a man of militaristic uniformity and passionless motivation, whether it be his work, his hobbies or his marriage that inevitably failed because of his lack of emotional decency. No words nor action throughout the years that we walked the same hallways and used the same kitchen conveyed any kind of bond or attachment. We inhabited the same home for years and yet lived entirely separate lives in entirely separate worlds. My mother, who I loved as any son would, was merely a maid to my father; to clean, to cook and to eventually cripple. They were so different, alien, compared to each other and yet they slept in the same bed each and every night as if their marriage was arranged.
After they seperated I rarely saw my father. Each Christmas, Easter, New Year and Birthday that went by I expected nothing and I still managed to be disappointed. The occasional phone call was, as you’d expect from someone such as my father, systematic and orderly; each question as if he spoke on a strangers behalf completely unaware of my interests, my desires and my dreams. Despite how methodical and militaristic his schedule was he still managed to miss each birthday, graduation, formal and performance completely unaware of how important it was for me. A simple fatherly handshake, such a trivial action that would have at least implied that I had finally done it, that I had accomplished something in my life.
That he was proud of me.
I eventually gave up. As years went by I cared less and less about whether he’d make an appearance to the point where it was easier to assume he was dead rather than he forgot. It gave the emotional and psychological closure I needed, because I thought that if he were dead he couldn’t effect me anymore. Instead I searched for the approval, the satisfaction and the pride in my peers, colleagues and friends. Each success of mine was a success of theirs, each celebration further enforced my self-esteem and confidence. I completely forgot that my father, if you could call him that, existed and I was finally able to live my life without each and every emotional barrage brought upon by him.
Except he finally appeared … just not in the way I hoped.
I got a letter from my father; not an email or a text but a handwritten letter, stamped and posted. My emotions became stormy and I couldn’t help but capsize; I felt so incredibly overwhelmed yet completely detached. Everything about the letter screamed it were written by my father’s hand: the lack of traditional fatherly nicknames like boy, son or champ, the flowing, almost graceful calligraphy and the simple fact that it was a handwritten letter. The atmosphere was overpowering and I simply collapsed, unlike Atlas I was unable to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore. The letter read very simple,
“Two weeks ago I was diagnosed with pancreatic adenocarcinoma. I am unlikely to survive as the survival rate is less than 10%. My home is at Stamford.”
I caught the first flight I could to the United States, completely unaware as to why I did. How could I consider him a father if he had never been there? What possible benefit would I gain from seeing him? It had been more than a decade since I’d had any interaction with this man but nonetheless there I was walking the stairs of the apartment where he lived; small, brick and rather spartan. Exactly what I would expect from a man such as him. My legs were rather heavy but I knew it had nothing to do with the chilly of Stamford in November; it was purely anxiety. Each consecutive step increased my heart rate tenfold, fearing my heart would fail at any moment.
His rustic door appeared worn down and broken but the doorknob remained prestinely polished. The door knocker was, like the doorknob, cleaned to a fault. I knocked on his door, scenarios running through my head as I envisioned his mistress answering the door with a chirpy, naive greeting completely unaware of his past or a young boy, no older than 10, staring deep into my eyes with the same childhood innocence I wish I had before calling for his grandfather. I tried to picture what his apartment was like, how he had built an entirely new life right after abandoning mine but I could not. How am I supposed to imagine a world for a man I never truly met? Unlike a stranger whose home you can imagine by how they look, walk, breathe and smile, I cannot imagine this man because the man I used to know didn’t exist anymore.
The door opened. It wasn’t frantic or leisurely but instead perfectly ordinary. I looked him dead in the eyes expecting nothing, from him and I, but instead it was clear we were both overwhelmed. He led me inside without speaking a word and his world became my own. He was the man I once knew but it was clear he wished to change, he wished to try and try he did. A scrapbook placed neatly on his varnished wooden coffee table showed every photo we ever took, every birthday he ever missed and every performance he wished he could’ve made. On his kitchen table were hand-written letters, sprawled out with every word he dreamed of saying but never got the chance. The small television surrounded by home-made videos of my first words, when I learnt to ride a bike and my little shows I’d do in the lounge room. He didn’t have much to give or to call his own but his memories were his own and no one could take that from him.
We spoke for hours about everything we missed. He asked about how I went in school, despite having a copy of every report card next to his bed. I asked about where he was all these years, perfectly aware he’d been here alone. We were peaceful in mind, body and spirit for a perfect moment. Sadly, moments are exactly that. Moments. They cannot last forever.
The events to come seemed to be unreal and all to real. It made me absolutely delusional trying to piece together how long I’d been there as if I were staring at an hour-glass that lacked any sand. Hospitals in the dead of night were arguably the most surreal and entracing place any man, woman or child could be yet I prayed to be anywhere but here. It was extremely naive of me to believe a simple prayer would do anything, take me anymore or do anything for me whatsoever and yet I placed my hope in a being greater than myself. All I really wanted at that very moment was the same thing I had all throughout my childhood.
Hope.
I grasped my dad’s hand as tightly as any boy would, like a schoolboy scared to cross the street. I wanted to tell him everything, all I wanted was to tell him how I’d felt all these years. How I’d wait for him to walk through the door on my 11th birthday and surprise me. How I’d make an appearance at my formal. How he’d be there when I finally finished school. I couldn’t find the word, I didn’t know what to say first.
I never got the say those final words. The last thing said in that room was …
“I love you … son”
So sexuality is weird
For as long as I can remember I have been bullied for my lack of masculinity; nothing excess just standard dancing instead of football vibe. Gay slurs were standard despite my heterosexuality but I learnt to deal with it, moreso embrace my more feminine personality and work on myself. I considered it a personal thing rather than a sexuality thing; I believed I was bullied because who I was as a person whether I was annoying, ugly or just boring. So I decided to work on myself by becoming ,what I believe to be, more charismatic as well as learning to maintain eye contact, keep a conversation and be somewhat charming. Without a father figure this was obviously hard + having ADD / ADHD didn’t make my situation any easier. Years went by and I believed I had it down pat but I became a shell of my formal self to embody the cliche. I became, and still am, depressed and chronically anxious. I disappeared for my peers, friends and family but I’m slowly coming back after 5 years of emotional disassociation. With that came a different kind of anxiety. Sexual anxiety.
I don’t get enough affection and I don’t know how to change that
fun fact, i can be killed but it won’t last
Well that was fucking ominous
@toddybuz @rileyskinnerr my photography skills are just as good as my ability to make toast Follow the boys as well (Insert unnecessary hashtags) #photography #photography📷 #chill #weekends #beach #relax #goodvibes #goodvibesonly #goodmorning #breathe #lifeisgood #byedepression (at Nobby's Beach Port Macquarie)
shino
(insp. )
Dedicated for : @xxxsasusakuxxx thank you for showing me that gifset !
To all the fathers and father figures in our lives ♥ (mother’s day ver)
Happy Father’s Day! || 06/17/18
Wish my dad was like this
Warning: Violence, potential spoilers, potential seizure trigger like whoa
Title: Quiet
Editor: Leberate
Song: Silence
Artist: Koven
Anime: KonoSuba, Tokyo Ghoul, Kyoukai no Kanata, Guilty Crown, Kamisama no Inai Nichiyoubi, Angel Beats!, Absolute Duo, Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works, Violet Evergarden, The Last: Naruto the Movie, Kekkai Sensen, Kiznaiver, Umineko no Naku Koro Ni, K Project, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Fate/Zero, Fate/Stay Night, Aldnoah.Zero, Tales of Zestiria the X, Munto, Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso, Kimi no na wa (film), and some unknown anime (there is a screen listing anime at the end of the video, but it’s very difficult to read)
Category: Freestyle
Holy Jesus that was amazing
To the anon who sent this to the Shinobi Collective Since you decided to personally attack the admins with cruel unkind words that had already been said to/about them, I hope you know how shitty of a person you are. I hope you change and look back down the road and feel awful for the hurtful and insensitive things you’ve said. How dare you personally attack someone you don’t know and talk shit about their personal life when you’re mad that the administrators made an incredibly difficult decision for the better of the entire group. How dare you belittle someone’s sexuality and be blatantly biphobic. And since this message was directed at me, I’m going to address your bullshit. Also if you’d like to know why we kicked the former Iruka from SC, it’s not just because they made several members in the group feel uncomfortable. It’s not just because they were racially insensitive at times. It’s not just because they blatantly broke community guidelines multiple times. It’s also because when they moderated for Shippuden Speaks they allowed a pedophile apologist and shipper in the group. It’s also because they invited a pedophile (who had been flirting with them) into Avatar Speaks and did not inform the admins until we had kicked them for a completely different reason. It is because they did not actually try to change behavior and were given countless chances. It is because they were argumentative and flippant when admins addressed these issues. It’s because several of our members came to us admins letting us know they felt unsettled and unsafe with them in the group. This was not a sudden decision. We had given them countless chances and ultimately we decided that we want our members to feel safe and if one person gets pissy that they got kicked, so be it. But fuck you for this message. You’re disgusting and should be ashamed of yourself.
Preach
Yess boo.
@itachispeaks
@kakuzuspeaks
@kakuzuspeaks
O.O I-Itachi-san! Y-You look good! >////< - Hinata
Bless itachi
use code “doyto” for 10% off
ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ 사형 sᴀʜʏᴇᴏɴɢ - https://soundcloud.com/sahyeong
She is beautiful.