a lived life

glimpses

2,924 notes

I am only half the woman I know I am,
A quarter of the woman I desire to be.

We are growing still,
We are growing everyday,

Do not stifle your own petals,
Do not deny yourself a blossoming.

blossom (via cosmofilius)

(via thegabdonwrites)

0 notes

People who post about family problems/arguments on Facebook despite of knowing that their post can be seen by the involved relative or by people who know the person they are talking about, are either asking for trouble or just stupid.

Sad how social media, despite of its ability to connect and re-connect people, has decreased relationships to virtual conversations that betray the true words that people need to say.

Filed under myhyprocriticalrantoftheday

0 notes

GOALS FOR SUMMER 2014:

1. Read at least one non-fiction book.

2. Read at least one French novel.

3. Read as much as possible, catch up on reading book series!

4. Study for LSAT!

5. Get U.S. Visa

6. Exercise as much as possible!

7. Work and save money.

8. Get G-license.

9. Watch TV series.

10. Volunteer!!

(Not in order of importance)

Let’s see how many I actually accomplish.

Filed under summergoals letsdothis

7,122 notes

I think the most painful realization comes when you find that you cannot speak your mother tongue as well as you do the language of the land where you grew up. My English is evidence of this. When something as simple as a colour, or the name of an animal in your mother tongue leaves you dumb. Yesterday I could not find the word for ‘turtle’ in Somali, only after my mother reminded me, did I recall knowing it.

We betray our mother tongues, for the languages of nations who will never fully accept us. We let the strangeness infest our mouths until we forget how to accommodate our original tongues.
mother tongue, Farah Gabdon (via ileu)

(Source: thegabdonwrites, via ileu)

101,083 notes

Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.
Letters From Nowhere (via ulhan)

(Source: vervelig, via ipunchedtao)