i know people are good because of this: the universe often assigns me side quests. in a circular strangeness; despite my inability to locate my-own-anything, i am almost-always finding someone else's lost things. dogs, coats, phones, cash, laptops. it happens so often it's almost tiring; suddenly being looped into a tiny amount of detective work.
but when i'm with other people who are not used to this: the response is almost invariably delight. yes, maybe they are simply thrilled by the mystery. it's just... they light up so much. i think maybe more... i think they like the opportunity to do something kind.
a few weeks ago, i was at a bar and i found a wallet as soon as we stepped outside. i felt nervous to ask for help, worried i would be holding up the night. i picked it up and said go on without me, i should help this get back to its home.
instead, three people pulled out their phones - to find him on facebook, to help cancel his credit cards. two people went back into the bar to tell the bartender, two others went calling down the street. group texts, facebook posts, instagram stories. people, without even seeing what happened, start offering help to me. fifteen minutes and: someone knows someone who knows the guy. the cheer that went up - just for finding him, just for this small thing. someone gets him on the phone. strangers dance around me, hopping on their feet - are you the girl that found that wallet? good for you, that's a good thing you're doing/same thing happened to me and somebody did what you're doing and i thank god everyday for people like you/i can't believe you found him so fast this is so exciting
i gave it back to him in a parking lot. i watched his shoulders sag with relief. there was cash in it still - he checked the pocket, and then sheepishly held the money out to me. i didn't take it. i held up my hands. "it's no problem, man. i know you'd do the same for me."
i don't know him, to be honest. i don't know if he is the same kind of person i am. but he nodded at me.
and i know people are good. i know people are good, because the way this story ends isn't surprising. we wave goodbye awkwardly. my friend loops their arm around me.
"i can't believe we got it back to him," they said. "i'm going to be riding that high for weeks."
23K notes
·
View notes
I actually find it really bizarre and counter intuitive that clinically speaking, you cannot legally be diagnosed with a personality disorder until you're at least 18. The reason given for this is because "the personality has not fully developed before this age" like ???
Ah yes, my favorite strategy. Not diagnosing the problem until it's already been virtually cemented into your brain for life! Wouldn't it be easier (and more painless) to address the problem before it's fully developed?
224 notes
·
View notes
Yes, poor people insist on eating cheap food and refusing to learn to cook. They wouldn't want better even if they did have the resources, that's just how they are by nature.
Thank you for correcting those ignorant Jason stans. Their headcanons of Jason being a good cook and enjoying fancy food are so seriously harmful.
Cass (who canonically lacks a lot of home skills and greatly enjoys eating other people's food) is one of the best cooks. Bruce (canonically a terrible cook who can't even make a sandwich) "does okay"—sure, it's your headcanon. Alfred, the classy British guy, is logically a great cook and "super posh". We can sum up Tim's unimpressive cooking skills just briefly.
But we need an entire section describing your headcanon about how Jason can't cook and needs to stick to "poverty comfort foods", because he comes from a poor background.
58 notes
·
View notes
imposter syndrome is a bitch
it can happen to artists you think are already enough or are skilled and great in your eyes
as much as it motivates us to improve ourselves and do better, its still not a pleasant feeling at all
its a persistent cycle of admiring someone who doubts themselves and i dont think its selfish to think that "you're not good enough"
because life has been cruel to us and for most of our lives we've been taught to "suck it up" or that we fear that our outputs are invalid in some way or mean nothing to anyone- the outputs that have parts of ourselves in it, even if it isn't meant to take a part of ourselves- it still came from us nonetheless
posts can easily say that you should be kind to yourself more but when it comes to trauma and something that's been with you since childhood, it's not as simple to shake off
it can take years and years- varies for every individual- and even then the people around you, the world and even yourself will change
as much as its awkward or a downer to see, be kind to artists who are hard on themselves. its not your obligation to give them attention. no, i dont think every single person who sees a vent post should come up to the person and be there for them to cry on their shoulder.
i just think at the very least we should understand that every single person you meet and the artists you admire are imperfect, and they will continue to think crappy thoughts about themselves- unlike in fantasies where its some simple character arc that is a story obstacle that can be overcome and forgotten about- fantasy is meant to be a fulfillment- a desire.
we are real human beings, but we can learn and grow and live.
115 notes
·
View notes
me: i wish someone other than intsys would make a good tactical RPG with Fire Emblem-style gameplay for me to enjoy
studio: look we made a cool new tactical RPG that fans of strategy games like Fire Emblem will enjoy
me: is the gameplay Final Fantasy Tactics or Advance Wars
studio: it's a good tactical RPG ma'am. fans of strategy games like Fire Emblem will enjoy it :)
me: *plays 20 minutes of it*
(it's FF Tactics or Advance Wars)
30 notes
·
View notes
at the asian american studies sponsored movie screening i run out of my seat to press a button for the presenter and you look away, not in shame, but in anger
go make your own movie.
One where you’re the star
and everything’s my fault
the way you want it to be. I know, it’s easy
to let someone else hold this grief
and sit in the bathtub,
all dressed up to go to the party.
Maybe in this movie it’s your party
and I the party crasher,
holding cymbals and a baseball bat, et cetera.
But we don’t stop getting older when we’re angry
and you’re only twenty,
can’t listen to lullabies at night,
can’t sleep without a blanket
over your head like you’re scared
of your own shadow. God, go
write your own movie.
You could do it,
you’re still
pretty. Angry? Me too.
The bathtub’s overflowing,
the bathroom’s flooding
with whatever you couldn’t say
to the poet with their palms glued shut
in a cheap simulacrum of prayer.
Didn’t you say you were tired? Angry? Me too.
Upset? Unhappy? Me too. Hungry? Lonely? Me too. Me too.
Standing barefoot in the grass
I remembered the month of bad weather.
How I parted the fog with broken hands each night,
looking for your voice.
Oh, I will not forgive you.
Not like this.
With your fingers splayed
against the brute February sky,
lips cracked open like windows,
waiting, like you always are, for me to say the first word.
30 notes
·
View notes