My name is Aziza, I'm full of shit.
Tell me a story.

No, I’m not ok. But I haven’t been ok since I was 11, maybe 12. I am still here though.
I’m still breathing. For me, sometimes, that will have to be enough

—Clementine Von Radics (via lunarify)

(Source: vomitbrat, via granitedreams)

Doodles from today

Doodles from today


For many Muslim Americans, 9/11 was a double punch of tragedy and bigotry

The actions of 19 Islamic extremists on 9/11 left an indelible mark on America. Today, millions pause to commemorate the attacks’ 13th anniversary, to honor the victims and to remember that all life is special and sacred. But there’s an untold story amid the many speeches and moments of silence — one filled with a different kind of pain, grief and strong sense of loss. 

Those stories are now being told on social media

Truth. I’ve known hate since the 2nd grade. For too long, saying my family was Muslim was something I felt ashamed of saying. My father’s beautiful history and culture was something to be hidden, out of fear of how people would react. I was embarrassed of my name for the longest time, afraid of what people would assume on first impressions. Everyone lost in the aftermath of those attacks.

(via lilitv)