a walk on a thin blue line

teetering back and forth between decison and the choice to say [fuck it].

and i've never felt so lost but hopeful.

April 14, 2014 at 3:28am
1,360 notes
Reblogged from hurtsbeautifully

Monika Sawicka by Mark Segal for Vogue Nippon

Monika Sawicka by Mark Segal for Vogue Nippon

(Source: hurtsbeautifully, via shrinemaidens)

April 2, 2014 at 9:25pm
21,236 notes
Reblogged from fotojournalismus


Guizhou, China
Kazuyoshi Nomachi

this is simultaneously the cutest and most hardcore thing i’ve seen ever



Guizhou, China

Kazuyoshi Nomachi

this is simultaneously the cutest and most hardcore thing i’ve seen ever

(via momonucleosis)

3,947 notes
Reblogged from likeafieldmouse


Rich White

April 1, 2014 at 3:56am
10,083 notes
Reblogged from outofcontextarthur


(Source: outofcontextarthur, via momonucleosis)

March 26, 2014 at 9:03pm
420 notes
Reblogged from d-i-a-b-o-l-i-q-u-e-s

(Source: d-i-a-b-o-l-i-q-u-e-s, via shrinemaidens)

17 notes
Reblogged from love-less


remake yourself into someone whole and ungovernable

7,618 notes
Reblogged from sevensandaprils

(Source: sevensandaprils, via shrinemaidens)

March 22, 2014 at 5:21pm
12 notes
Reblogged from love-less

sit sober at a dive bar in the 11th with people you know well but wouldn’t necessarily consider your friends, just people you’ve clung to out of convenience. we all do it. there’s a guy outside smoking missing one of his front teeth but he’s handsome enough for it not to really matter. actually, it kind of elevates him in your eyes. that same song is playing again. you get up to smoke, maybe talk to him, excuse yourself and then vanish around a corner and onto a train. that’s all.

March 18, 2014 at 12:06am
11,847 notes
Reblogged from harmonykilledthehonk

So you wish you were Asian.


My parents came to the United States with a suitcase filled with things from their previous lives. They worked two jobs, seven days a week, while studying as full-time students to complete their education. My dad tells me stories about how he waited tables late into the night, while my mom sold shoes at flea markets on her days off to earn spare  cash to buy a car. They built the privilege affirmative action says we have from nothing but hard work.

I was given the gift of being able to be born into a family that defined the American Dream. My parents taught me English and Chinese simultaneously, spent hours reading me stories of Snow White and Cinderella, and the Monkey adventures in Journey to the West. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that they had learned English from memorizing vocabulary cards and reading old textbooks on grammar.

And though my parents taught me English, they ask me to deal with scheduling doctor appointments for them; they ask me to proofread emails for them, out of embarrassment that they feel their English isn’t sufficient to be taken seriously, it sickens me when I realize that while their mastery of the English language is more than proficient, it doesn’t matter, because the rest of the world doesn’t care.

But you wish you were Asian.

I grew up, hearing the words of boys whose only “standard” for the girls they were interested in was “Asian,” realizing that the disgustingly scary fetish of Asian women is actually a reality. I grew up, watching the world’s understanding of my cultural heritage be reduced to ching chong’s and ling long’s, kimonos, and fortune cookies. I grew up, being asked if my parents belonged to the communist party, when I held in me the stories they told me of labor camps they were sent to at the age of 13, of how one day, they couldn’t go to school anymore, of how my grandparents tried desperately later on, long after Mao’s regime ended, to force their children, now adults, to eat copious amounts of food, as if to make up for times when there was nothing to eat.

But you want to be Asian. 

I live in a country that has yet to realize that yellow face is not appropriate on mainstream television, a world that somehow doesn’t realize that statements like, “Kill the Chinese!!” are not acceptable to be aired on talk shows. I live in the 21st century, where the only understanding I can get about the story behind my heritage comes from my own parents, where the only times I can see people who look like me on screen is on Youtube.

I grew up as an Asian American, an individual in a group of people that never really belonged anywhere. Because in the United States, we’re nothing more than descendants of the people who invented orange chicken, and in China, we’re foreigners who fail to adopt the careful nuance of the dialect spoken there. We grew up, holding our ethnicity as something of great pride, and at the same time, of great burden. 

Our representation in the United States government practically is nonexistent. There is no proof that we as a group of human beings existed beyond the pages of Amy Tan novels. The caricatures on television taught us that we were nerds, deficient at English and social skills, bound by our supposed tiger parents to live out their dreams.

And because we apparently don’t exist to the rest of the United States, the inherent racism my “fascinating” ethnicity faces also ceases to exist.

But still. You enjoy your green tea and kungfu movies and paper lanterns. You love your Chinese 1 class and your Japanese Civilizations course and Wang Leehom. And my goodness, what you would give, if only you could be Asian.

March 17, 2014 at 11:14pm
636 notes
Reblogged from nevver

Love our hair


Love our hair