khawlabentalazwaar:

gothamcityballet:

deafmuslimpunx:

exquisitedialectics:

takealookatyourlife:

Aiya Van Kooten everyone

When Aiya Van Kooten stood face-to-face with a burglar in her bedroom, her left eye twitched, then she went into “predator mode”.
“I screamed at him… jumped off my chair, leaped over my bed and sprinted after him down the stairs,” she said.
http://www.stuff.co.nz/national/crime/8626910/Predator-mode-scares-off-burglars

This is the best story of my life

“Although she was the only one home, Van Kooten said she had no regard for her safety - instead, she said she was just overwhelmed with “rage“….. ummmmm Hero!!! 

Haha, badass Muslim woman. Love it!!!

This lady is so awesome. She lives with her grandma and was studying and had a towel on her head and no shoes but she chased them out of her garden, kicked one up the arse as he climbed a fence, they dropped a camera and laptop, she flagged down a passing driver to help her continue the pursuit, and it turned out he was ex-military, and they finally caught one of them in a park and pinned him as the police arrived. Now she’s going to visit the burglar in prison for the next few months to help with his rehabilitation.
So in summary:
This lady doesn’t just defend her home and loved ones, she will hunt you down, team up with other skilled individuals, get you put away, and then teach you the consequences of your actions until you’re a valuable member of society once more.
Seriously she’s a frigging superhero.

literal hero

khawlabentalazwaar:

gothamcityballet:

deafmuslimpunx:

exquisitedialectics:

takealookatyourlife:

Aiya Van Kooten everyone

When Aiya Van Kooten stood face-to-face with a burglar in her bedroom, her left eye twitched, then she went into “predator mode”.

“I screamed at him… jumped off my chair, leaped over my bed and sprinted after him down the stairs,” she said.

http://www.stuff.co.nz/national/crime/8626910/Predator-mode-scares-off-burglars

This is the best story of my life

Although she was the only one home, Van Kooten said she had no regard for her safety - instead, she said she was just overwhelmed with “rage“….. ummmmm Hero!!! 

Haha, badass Muslim woman. Love it!!!

This lady is so awesome. She lives with her grandma and was studying and had a towel on her head and no shoes but she chased them out of her garden, kicked one up the arse as he climbed a fence, they dropped a camera and laptop, she flagged down a passing driver to help her continue the pursuit, and it turned out he was ex-military, and they finally caught one of them in a park and pinned him as the police arrived. Now she’s going to visit the burglar in prison for the next few months to help with his rehabilitation.

So in summary:

This lady doesn’t just defend her home and loved ones, she will hunt you down, team up with other skilled individuals, get you put away, and then teach you the consequences of your actions until you’re a valuable member of society once more.

Seriously she’s a frigging superhero.

literal hero

(Source: takealookatyourlife, via je-mappelle-geniale)

fwips:

/SCREAM/ MY GRANDPA JUST MADE ME A REPLACEMENT COMPUTER CHARGER TO USE TILL THE NEW ONE GETS HERE

LOOK AT IT

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HE LITERALLY MADE MY COMPUTER A HEART/LIFE SUPPORT OUT OF A PILE OF SCRAPS MY GRANDPA IS TONY STARK

(via larissafae)

romanimp:

romanimp:

Some of the best alpine/woodland military camo is developed by the Swiss, but most of the rest of the world refuse to use it because it has pink and red splotches on it, making it look “unmanly.”

Honestly if you’d prefer to risk it for the sake of looking “manly” then you deserve to get shot. 

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"That couldn’t possibly work, Roman! Alpenflage is dumb and you’re dumb!”

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DO NOT I REPEAT DO NOT PLAY “WHERE’S WALDO” WITH THE SWISS

YOU WILL LOSE

(via valtheviking)

galaxyreptiles:

ultrafacts:

Source If you want more facts, follow Ultrafacts

Shared by Galaxy Reptiles.

malcolmsex:

pennislots:

riningear:

Every time this post comes around, I have to explain this. 

Watch Dennou Coil, the most underrated anime pretty much ever. 

  • Yes, this is the standard of animation throughout the series. 
  • AND THIS IS A FILLER EPISODE. 
  • It’s basically about kids with what’s essentially Google Glass: The Game. The whole world is affected by this game. Traffic lights, school, anything. 
  • It’s good in the beginning and gets really, really good by the end. 
  • Shows the vulnerabilities of children.
  • Well-written children in general. They fall under some tropes but they don’t suffer from the usual fallacies of writing children into series. 
  • And yeah, the filler episodes are really good. The whole series is worth watching. 

Reblogging as a reminder to myself

 wish this show was longer.

(Source: piyox22, via princeadri)

poetic-biotic-draconic:

Who is she?

poetic-biotic-draconic:

Who is she?

(Source: officialrule34, via grawly)

diriyeosman:

TO BE YOUNG, GAY AND AFRICAN
BY DIRIYE OSMAN
When I first came out to my family, most of them stopped talking to me. My father, who I was very close to, stopped speaking to me for two years before picking up the phone late one night to let me know that my being gay was not only an amoral form of psychic and sexual corruption but also an act of perverse, Western mimicry. I was not only going against my Islamic upbringing but my African heritage as well.
I was born in Somalia, and I spent my formative years living in Nairobi, Kenya, before moving to London. Somalia and Kenya may have many sociological and cultural divisions but both states stand firm on one soil when it comes to the issue of homosexuality. Any form of sexual difference is considered not only repugnant, but also devious precisely because sexual difference in Somalia and Kenya, like most African states, is a narrative best kept to oneself. If you want to spin this story publically and share your experiences as an LGBT person, you had best buckle up and brace yourself for physical abuse, ceaseless harassment, imprisonment or death. Things are considerably more lenient in Kenya than Somalia amongst the cultural elite, but both nations still have a long way to go when it comes to ensuring basic rights for their respective LGBT communities.
When I came out to my family I did not flinch. I spoke my truth and stood my ground knowing that I would be punished in some way for having the audacity to assert my identity. What upset my family the most was the fact that I was proud of being gay. They could not configure the possibility that after years of silence, timidity and self-doubt I had finally cultivated courage and the kind of confidence that comes with a hard-won sense of comfort in one’s own skin.
I come from a community that has been emotionally and psychologically traumatized by decades of civil war, mass migration and dislocation; a community that has through sheer collective willpower and survivalist instinct managed to rally together to form the tightest, most close-knit networks, with family life as the nucleus. In order to fully belong you must live up to absurd standards of virtue, honour and piety. The reality is no-one manages this, but the trick is to try or act like you’re trying. There are multiple degrees of scorn poured on any form of transgression: a girl without a headscarf is a harlot-in-training, and a teenager with a rebellious streak is ripe for daqan celis – a return to a grim part of Somalia for some much-needed ‘re-education’. All these taboos become miniscule in comparison to homosexuality. The fact that I wanted to write about my experiences as a young, gay Somali did more than grate on my family’s nerves. They were incensed enough to threaten me with violence, but I was smart enough to know that as a citizen of the UK there are laws that protect my rights as a gay man. This is a position of privilege, but it’s only a position of privilege because I fully understand and exercise these hard-won rights. I arrived at this point of self-acceptance by doing what came best to me, what generations of the Somali community have always done in order to sustain themselves when crisis kicked off, I told stories. I told stories of what it meant to be young and endure struggle. I told stories of what it meant to fall in love with another man and for that love to be reciprocated in the face of rejection and familial disapproval. I told these stories repeatedly and I wrote them down by drawing on the gorgeous history and culture of the Somali people. It’s a natural human impulse to denounce the traditions of those who have rejected you, but I refused to do that. I wrote these stories down and compiled them into a collection of short fiction called “Fairytales For Lost Children”. These stories follow young, gay Somalis on the cultural and social periphery of both their adopted homelands of Nairobi and London as well as their motherland, Somalia. These characters experience a wide spectrum of dilemmas whether it is mental illness, civil war, immigration or complicated family histories. But they still hold on to their sense of humanity and optimism without the need for apology or victimhood.
When I published this book last year I received emails from young LGBT men and women from Somalia, Kenya, Nigeria and Uganda telling me how much the stories meant to them, and how they felt a sense of solace knowing that I was telling these narratives without shame or fear. Shame and fear are the most potent weapons in the homophobe’s arsenal. If one rejects the notion that one has to be ashamed of being gay or lesbian, then half the battle is won.
With each email that I received I would not only encourage and motivate these young men and women as best as I could, but I would also tell them to go out into the world and form meaningful friendships and support networks where they could be themselves without fear of judgement. At a time when LGBT youth across the world are losing their lives to homophobic stigma it’s important to remind them that they are worthy and their lives have value.
As for me, I’m wise enough to know that struggle will always happen. That’s just the general texture of a life’s pattern. But I keep moving forward in the knowledge that I’m simply a voice in a chorus of voices united in the belief that equality on all fronts is not a privilege but a basic human right that we must continuously fight for and defend.
As for my young fellow LGBT Africans, I will say this again and again because it bears repeating.
It’s a beautiful thing to be young, gay and African.
Diriye Osman is photographed by Boris Mitkov.

diriyeosman:

TO BE YOUNG, GAY AND AFRICAN

BY DIRIYE OSMAN

When I first came out to my family, most of them stopped talking to me. My father, who I was very close to, stopped speaking to me for two years before picking up the phone late one night to let me know that my being gay was not only an amoral form of psychic and sexual corruption but also an act of perverse, Western mimicry. I was not only going against my Islamic upbringing but my African heritage as well.

I was born in Somalia, and I spent my formative years living in Nairobi, Kenya, before moving to London. Somalia and Kenya may have many sociological and cultural divisions but both states stand firm on one soil when it comes to the issue of homosexuality. Any form of sexual difference is considered not only repugnant, but also devious precisely because sexual difference in Somalia and Kenya, like most African states, is a narrative best kept to oneself. If you want to spin this story publically and share your experiences as an LGBT person, you had best buckle up and brace yourself for physical abuse, ceaseless harassment, imprisonment or death. Things are considerably more lenient in Kenya than Somalia amongst the cultural elite, but both nations still have a long way to go when it comes to ensuring basic rights for their respective LGBT communities.

When I came out to my family I did not flinch. I spoke my truth and stood my ground knowing that I would be punished in some way for having the audacity to assert my identity. What upset my family the most was the fact that I was proud of being gay. They could not configure the possibility that after years of silence, timidity and self-doubt I had finally cultivated courage and the kind of confidence that comes with a hard-won sense of comfort in one’s own skin.

I come from a community that has been emotionally and psychologically traumatized by decades of civil war, mass migration and dislocation; a community that has through sheer collective willpower and survivalist instinct managed to rally together to form the tightest, most close-knit networks, with family life as the nucleus. In order to fully belong you must live up to absurd standards of virtue, honour and piety. The reality is no-one manages this, but the trick is to try or act like you’re trying. There are multiple degrees of scorn poured on any form of transgression: a girl without a headscarf is a harlot-in-training, and a teenager with a rebellious streak is ripe for daqan celis – a return to a grim part of Somalia for some much-needed ‘re-education’. All these taboos become miniscule in comparison to homosexuality. The fact that I wanted to write about my experiences as a young, gay Somali did more than grate on my family’s nerves. They were incensed enough to threaten me with violence, but I was smart enough to know that as a citizen of the UK there are laws that protect my rights as a gay man. This is a position of privilege, but it’s only a position of privilege because I fully understand and exercise these hard-won rights.

I arrived at this point of self-acceptance by doing what came best to me, what generations of the Somali community have always done in order to sustain themselves when crisis kicked off, I told stories. I told stories of what it meant to be young and endure struggle. I told stories of what it meant to fall in love with another man and for that love to be reciprocated in the face of rejection and familial disapproval. I told these stories repeatedly and I wrote them down by drawing on the gorgeous history and culture of the Somali people. It’s a natural human impulse to denounce the traditions of those who have rejected you, but I refused to do that. I wrote these stories down and compiled them into a collection of short fiction called “Fairytales For Lost Children”. These stories follow young, gay Somalis on the cultural and social periphery of both their adopted homelands of Nairobi and London as well as their motherland, Somalia. These characters experience a wide spectrum of dilemmas whether it is mental illness, civil war, immigration or complicated family histories. But they still hold on to their sense of humanity and optimism without the need for apology or victimhood.

When I published this book last year I received emails from young LGBT men and women from Somalia, Kenya, Nigeria and Uganda telling me how much the stories meant to them, and how they felt a sense of solace knowing that I was telling these narratives without shame or fear. Shame and fear are the most potent weapons in the homophobe’s arsenal. If one rejects the notion that one has to be ashamed of being gay or lesbian, then half the battle is won.

With each email that I received I would not only encourage and motivate these young men and women as best as I could, but I would also tell them to go out into the world and form meaningful friendships and support networks where they could be themselves without fear of judgement. At a time when LGBT youth across the world are losing their lives to homophobic stigma it’s important to remind them that they are worthy and their lives have value.

As for me, I’m wise enough to know that struggle will always happen. That’s just the general texture of a life’s pattern. But I keep moving forward in the knowledge that I’m simply a voice in a chorus of voices united in the belief that equality on all fronts is not a privilege but a basic human right that we must continuously fight for and defend.

As for my young fellow LGBT Africans, I will say this again and again because it bears repeating.

It’s a beautiful thing to be young, gay and African.

Diriye Osman is photographed by Boris Mitkov.

(via writingwithcolor)

davidbyrne:

i love laughing about the friend zone because it’s so dumb like you know most of those dudes aren’t even IN the “friend zone” they’re in the “ugh god not this dude again” zone

(via heliolisk)

hopeflakes:

When you see someone with a happy icon make a really angry text post

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(via jasonttodd)

shubbabang:

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Friends and I were talking about Karkat reacting to laser pointers like a cat would so this piece of shit exists now

(via mind-explosion)