Re-blog If You Can Write In Cursive.

“Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet”

— Stephen Hawking (1942-2018)

He is not the sun. You are.

Christina Yang (via maybe-you-need-this)

PETA

you guys remember when PETA stole people pets off their porches and euthanized them?

you guys remember how it came out that PETA kills about 90% of the animals it takes in, including healthy and adoptable puppies and kittens, stating “ We could become a no-kill shelter immediately. It means we wouldn’t do as much work”?

you guys remember when PETA advocated killing all pit bulls for the crime of being pit bulls?

you guys remember when PETA handed out these comics to children when there were no adults looking?

you guys remember when they made a porn site and then filled it with videos of animal abuse, and (also in that link) claimed cats should be vegetarian?

you guys remember when PETA lied about sheep shearing, got caught, and defended the lie as true even after they admitted the sheep in their picture wasn’t even real?

you guys remember when they tried to excuse their horrifying ways by claiming that the person who exposed them was manipulating the facts by taking them and putting them in the wrong context?

Because I remember. I remember everything. 

And I’m gonna make sure everyone else remembers too. 

A reminder that turning in assignments for partial credit is better than not turning them in at all. It is. Even if you think you’ve done a bad job and are ashamed of your work, or it’s way overdue, you take whatever you can get. Partial credit dramatically improves your grade over a zero, and I’m always astounded by how often even the smartest kids don’t really comprehend that. 60% is worlds better than 0%. Even 10% is going to help you. Letter grades are misleading and are not created equal. “F"s are mathematically valuable. Turn that late assignment in.

You see,  this is my issue with parents who don’t give their kids privacy as well. They are the same ones who are like “This is my house, I pay the bills. You can do whatever you want when you start paying your own bills in your own house.” 

sigh

You’re not creating space for you’re child to grow. You’re just restricting and preventing their growth. 

“I had a room to myself as a kid, but my mother was always quick to point out that it wasn’t my room, it was her room and I was merely permitted to occupy it. Her point, of course, was that my parents had earned everything and I was merely borrowing the space, and while this is technically true I cannot help but marvel at the singular damage of this dark idea: That my existence as a child was a kind of debt and nothing, no matter how small, was mine. That no space was truly private; anything of mine could be forfeited at someone else’s whim.”  ― Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House

“La Lluvia” ~ Jacqueline Acuña

Este poema está dedicado a mi nana, que descanse en paz. Donde sea que te encuentres, espero que sepas que te amo y te extraño. Espero que te guste este poema. Hay otra versión en Ingles titulado “The Rain”. 

“La Lluvia”:

La lluvia nos saludo en el principio del fin.

Nos dirigió hacia el camino adelante.

Un camino enlodado, lleno de piedras, con saltos y golpes.

Un camino muy bien viajado.

Un camino lleno de dolor.

Un camino que dirige a todos hacía el mismo, desgraciado final.

Y igual como vino, se fue.

Inesperadamente.

Nos dejó empapados en lágrimas de tristeza, de alegría.

Pero la lluvia nos trajo juntos, nos unió.

Y juntos lloramos su partida.

Llorábamos porque sin ella había una sequía en nuestros corazones que nunca va estar resuelto.

Las nubes también se juntaran, por el resto del tiempo y llorarán por su memoria.

La agua goteando desde el cielo no estará llena de su presencia.

La agua no será suficiente para aliviar el dolor de la desaparición de la lluvia.

Y aunque no queramos aprender a vivir con el dolor y la sequía lo tendríamos que hacer.

Solamente tenemos su memoria para satisfacer nuestra sed de querer verla, de querer estar redondeados de su presencia.

Solamente tenemos su memoria de la frialdad recorriendo nuestra piel, llevando con ella nuestras preocupaciones y dolor.

Por ella, nos convertimos en lluvia—llorando gotas tratando de limpiar el dolor de haberla perdido.

Por ella, nos convertimos en lluvia para recordarla.