#so immigrant families can see themselves on screen

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Tbh the weirdest thing about Elemental is they had a gay couple in it and Disney didn’t even brag about it

[xiaq]

What were your thoughts on EEAAO? What did you love about it?

A. They handled the concept of a multiverse the way I wish Marvel would handle the concept of a multiverse.

B. Despite all the lovely chaos, it’s a pretty simple story about family. And intergenerational trauma. And how a “fractured” relationship can have far-reaching impacts. That trying to address intergenerational trauma takes effort and growing pains but that healing is absolutely possible if the people involved are willing to admit mistakes and commit to change.

C. It satirizes a ton of tropes that are typically present in western movies about Asian people/locations while also paying homage to Asian film-making/makers.

D. It’s just as touching/gut-wrenching as it is legitimately laugh-out-loud hilarious. I can’t remember another movie where I both cried and laughed that hard.

E. It’s artistically gorgeous. The costuming, the filmography, the music. It’s just a freaking joy to look at/listen to even aside from the compelling storyline.

F. I love that Michelle Yeoh’s character was so ordinary. They didn’t try to make her some cool, cutting-edge, fashionable, gorgeous, action star. She’s a middle-aged immigrant woman dealing with family and financial concerns, who holds herself to extremely high standards and has lost the ability to effectively communicate with her queer daughter and loving but miserable husband. It’s real. I know people and families just like that. And they deserve to see themselves and their struggles and similar existential angst/possibility for happiness on screen.

G. The sheer amount of Asian excellence in this movie is, obviously, a point in its favor.

Ok I could go on but I feel like this is a good start. Others can feel free to chime in!

[cjstheshethey]

I really wanna talk about Blue Beetle and why it's so important to me. SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!

Ever since this movie was announced, I was excited because I have familiarized myself with the character of Jaime Reyes for over a decade now. My sister introduced to me to the character when we had our late night Young Justice marathons during a vacation in Mexico back in 2013. Eventually, we got to season 2, where Jaime was introduced. I remember when he would speak Spanish, I would say "Hey he speaks Spanish like us!" And sometimes my non-English speaking cousins would join us watching the show, and when he spoke Spanish, they were able to understand him. As time went on I kinda forgot about DC for a while since I was gaining other interests until Young Justice came back for its 3rd and 4th seasons(This is also your subtle sign that if you haven't watched Young Justice you should do that). Naturally, Jaime is still one of my favorite characters in the show. While I was still in my Young Justice hyperfixation, It was announced that a Blue Beetle movie was happening and even had some concept art shown. Me being the superhero loving Mexican nerd that I am, I was already hyped, and we hadn't even gotten a trailer yet. Then, on April 3rd of this year, the first trailer came out, and I was so excited. DC has been one of my special interests since literally as long as I can remember no joke one of the first shows I ever remember seeing was the original Teen Titans and so combine one of my special interests with one of the most important parts of my identity(my ethnicity) and an excuse to go to the movies? I was stoked. And so I finally saw it a couple of days ago, and I LOVED it. From the family dynamic to the music choices(La Chona in the beginning where Rudy was introduced was the most Mexican introduction ever and I love it.) and even a few references to Mexican culture I didn't expect, Blue Beetle was everything to me. Finally a movie centered around a Mexican family that wasn't afraid to go into topics like immigration and straight up racism towards Mexicans and those topics not taking up the whole story while also not stereotyping any of these characters and treating them like real people. These guys did their research, and it showed. During the part where Jaime comes back to Earth and starts saying something in Spanish, he's saying a prayer. I used to say that particular prayer a lot back when I was a kid, which is a good thing they added that in there because it makes relatable to someone like me. I really wanna make note of one of my favorite scenes from the movie. So after Jaime gets the Scarab and it attaches itself to him, he tries to find a way to get it off him. Once they go to Ted Kords' hidden lab and find out he can't get rid of it safely, he angerly walks out. His uncle Rudy follows him up to the roof. Rudy asks if Jaimes ok and Jaime apologizes for yelling at Rudy. Rudy then starts giving a really good talk about the family and how resilient they are. Then he says this. "I mean, look at your old man. He brought me here from Sonora....when I was 10." No joke, just ask @alextric-overload(Hey dude 😁) and my other friends who came with me, I legitimately gasped in that theater. Why? Because that's where my family is from. Never before did I ever imagine Sonora would even be mentioned in any media let alone a big screen superhero movie but I am so glad it was and I've said it before and I'll say it again: Never in my life have I felt so seen and so represented. The moment those credits rolled, I legit said word for word, "This! This is how you do representation. MORE. OF. THIS. PLEASE." This is why representation is so important because if we continue to make movies like this, more people like me can see themselves in media and feel the way I did. REPRESENTATION MATTERS! So please go support this movie if you haven't already, it's so worth it!

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics  (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. As the campaign intensifies, Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

(Nessian focused but lots of Feysand to keep things interesting.)

Read on AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Chapter 3

"Eris?" Gwyn looked surprised, her bright teal eyes catching the name flashing across Nesta's phone screen.

Nesta left her phone facing up on the table during Sunday brunch with her two best friends -- a tactical error. Nesta quickly sent the call to voicemail and slipped her phone into her bag.

"Again?" Emerie smirked from behind her coffee cup.

Nesta felt her face burn red. "I ran into him at the Hewn charity gala," she pushed her food around with her fork. "I don't know why he's calling."

Gwyn huffed. "I can't believe you saw Eris before you made time to see us," she teased.

"Things have been crazy with the campaign. And the gala was a work event," Nesta looked contrite. "When's your train back to New York, Gwyn? Do you have time to drop by Emerie's shop with me?"

"Don't change the subject," Gwyn's eyes twinkled. "Now we need to know what happened with Eris last night."

"I -- he -- " Nesta started, her face turning an even deeper shade of red, but found that she couldn't bring herself to say out loud that she had gone home with Eris for hate sex. "You two are the worst," she said instead.

Gwyn knew Nesta well enough to make the inference. "I thought you couldn't stand him!" Her face was equal parts surprise and amusement.

Emerie snickered. "No. They're friends with benefits."

"We are not friends!" Nesta hissed.

"Fine," Emerie was enjoying this entirely too much. "They are frenemies with benefits."

Nesta opened her mouth to reply but then said nothing.

Gwyn glanced between Nesta and Emerie and let out a laugh. "So are the benefits good at least?" Gwyn asked surreptitiously.

Nesta suddenly felt self-conscious. She tugged the collar of her blouse higher, hoping the red bruise Eris had left on the crook of her neck remained hidden.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Emerie observed.

Gwyn nodded. "That's definitely a yes."

---

Mercifully, Gwyn and Emerie let Nesta off the hook for the remainder of their brunch.

Nesta had dearly missed spending time with her two best friends. After college, they had all moved to different cities but still made time to meet up regularly. Gwyn headed a women's advocacy non-profit in New York City ("God, I miss having you in the City," Gwyn had said when she arrived in DC). Emerie owned a women's fashion boutique in Alexandria ("I'm so happy to have you close by now," Emerie retorted. "But I better see you more often from now on," she had admonished).

Their conversations flowed easily. Gwyn and Emerie both wanted to know more about Rhys ("Is he as handsome in person as he is in photos?"). They peppered Emerie with questions about the new woman she was dating ("What was her family like?" "Was she a cat person or a dog person?").

They both listened sympathetically when Nesta told them about Elain and Feyre. Gwyn wrapped Nesta into a tight, loving hug ("These things take time."). Until then, Nesta hadn't realized how much she needed to hear those words.

---

Cassian paced around Rhys's office Monday morning. The vote for the immigration bill was delayed.

"Beron is up to something," Azriel said from his corner. His eyes followed Cassian back and forth in the limited space -- they had removed all the visitor chairs from the room now that the team was bigger.

"He's gathering his forces for an ugly floor fight."

Rhys nodded in agreement. "I only told him I'd think about adding the amendment. It would no doubt kill the bill. He must have approached other members of the House about it too."

Feyre frowned. "It doesn't make any sense," she mused. "It would be politically beneficial for Beron and the party to pass the bill as is. Why is he trying to sabotage his own legislative priorities?"

Cassian shook his head. "As Speaker, he put the bill up to a floor vote. But now he's playing dirty behind the scenes," he turned to Rhys. "I never thought he actually wanted immigration reform."

Rhys looked down at his hands, considering their comments.

"We need to position our office as being pro-immigration," Amren said. She turned to Nesta, "Can you come up with some language on this -- our position for a press release?"

Nesta settled her gaze on Rhys. "That depends," she said, a challenge. "On what Rhys thinks about immigration reform."

Rhys turned his full attention to Nesta. "I support everything in the current bill," he said.

Nesta rolled her eyes. "What do you actually believe?"

Rhys paused, his face unreadable. The question hung in the air.

A knock sounded at the door. A young lady poked her head into the room. "Excuse me, sir, sorry to interrupt," the staffer said apprehensively, her face flushed. "All the members are being called to the floor."

Rhys rose from his chair. "We'll continue this later," he said to Nesta on his way out the door, the young staffer at his heels.

Nesta looked after him and frowned. She didn't like how Rhys avoided her more probing questions regarding his political agenda. Was Rhys waiting to see which way the political winds would blow before settling on his policy goals?

Azriel picked up his laptop and papers. "We still need to figure out what Beron's trying to pull," he said, scrolling through his phone. "Let me make some calls. Maybe someone in the Speaker's office is willing to enlighten us."

Nesta was still looking out the open door after Rhys's disappearing form. "Don't bother," she said. "I'll talk to Eris."

Everyone in the room went still.

Nesta turned to Azriel and observed that his lips were drawn into a tight line. "Eris had been calling," she explained. "So I'll call him back."

Cassian's jaw worked. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly.

"Eris wants the bill to pass," Nesta said, getting impatient. "He'll play ball."

Cassian started pacing again, avoiding looking in Nesta's direction.

Azriel's frown deepened.

Amren surveyed Nesta while drumming her manicured fingers on the surface of the desk. "Do I need to worry about you and Eris?" Amren asked carefully.

"Excuse me?" Nesta's voice rose. She looked between Amren, Azriel, and Feyre. They were all studying her with interest. She didn't know whether to be insulted or outraged. She knew she didn't like the implication of the question.

"I am a professional and I'll conduct myself as such. I expect the same from all of you." Nesta's tone was brusque.

Amren hesitated but looked to Feyre.

The sisters stared at each other intently. "I trust you and your judgment," Feyre finally said. Nesta let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Amren nodded. "Fine, call Eris for a meeting," then she pointed at Cassian. "You're going with her."

"I don't need a chaperon." Nesta crossed her arms.

Amren looked out the window, her eyes searching for some distant object outside. "I have no doubt you can handle yourself, girl," she said. "But Eris needs to be reminded of who he's jostling with."

---

"Look who finally decided to return my calls." Eris's voice crackled over Nesta's speaker. Cassian stood next to her, his eyes on her phone. Amren had insisted they work as a team, and then Cassian insisted on listening in on the call.

"I'm already regretting this," Nesta retorted, rolling her eyes at both her phone and Cassian.

"I'll make it worth your while," Eris's tone was lurid. Cassian raised his eyebrows.

Nesta looked up at Cassian. Something twisted in her at the pained expression on his handsome face. Cassian held her gaze and nodded grimly for her to continue.

"Just tell me where to meet you," she said.

---

Eris picked a tiny diner on the outskirts of the city for their meeting the next day. He was surprised to see Nesta walk in with Cassian's towering figure behind her.

"I didn't know this was bring your child to work day," Eris told her drily, barely acknowledging Cassian's presence. He gave Nesta a quick kiss on her cheek and then gestured for them to sit in the booth across from him.

The diner looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1950s, with checkered linoleum floors and bright red benches. Cassian scanned the long rectangular space. They were the only ones there except for the wait staff.

Nesta was nervous to meet Eris with Cassian. On their drive here, they only spoke to each other in short curt sentences, going over what they would ask Eris. She had opened her computer in the passenger seat and worked on the immigration press release. Her years of reporting had trained her well for writing on moving vehicles. Cassian was a quiet, comforting presence beside her -- he left her to her work and focused on navigating through traffic.

A waitress came up to their table. "What can I get you folks?"

"Just coffee," Cassian said and crossed his arms.

"Same for me."

"The beautiful lady will have a slice of your chocolate cake, Alis," Eris smiled. "And I'll take the lunch special." After the waitress left, Eris turned to Nesta -- she arched an eyebrow -- and added, "It's the best chocolate cake in DC, I swear."

Cassian looked like he was ready to throttle Eris. "You come here often?" he asked sharply.

"Something like that," Eris's face was impassive. "Nesta didn't mention she was babysitting."

Alis returned with three mugs of coffee before Cassian could respond.

"Why are we here, Eris?" Nesta asked. She could already feel her annoyance surfacing.

"I told you the chocolate cake is amazing," Eris gave her a wicked grin.

Cassian drank his coffee, letting Nesta take the lead as they had discussed.

"Well, out with it," Nesta said with disdain. "What did you want tell me that can't be said over the phone?"

Eris pouted. "If you had stayed the night," he drawled. "I would have told you in the morning."

Nesta refused to let Eris rile her up. She gave a quick side glance to Cassian. His face went dark. Nesta felt a twinge of remorse -- she didn't want to drag Cassian into her twisted alliance with a scoundrel like Eris. She didn't want Cassian to think that she took satisfaction in any of this.

"We don't have time for idle talk, Eris," Nesta said, keeping her voice neutral.

Alis came by again with a sandwich on one plate and a huge piece of chocolate cake on another. They fell silent as Alis walked back to the counter.

Instead of responding, Eris picked up his sandwich and took a bite. He looked at Nesta expectedly.

Nest sighed, unwrapped the fork from a napkin, and ate a piece of the cake. She hated that it was the best chocolate cake she had in a long while.

Cassian was visibly pissed off.

Satisfied, Eris took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. "Beron doesn't care whether the immigration bill lives or dies," he finally said.

"Why did he put the bill on the floor then?" Nesta put her fork down.

"Beron allowed the bill to come to a floor vote to appease the progressive wing of the party," Eris continued. "They have been threatening to revolt."

"We know," Cassian said. He shifted in his seat, his knee knocked against Nesta's. She blinked.

"Beron doesn't care what happens to immigration reform," Eris looked bored. "He just doesn't want the progressives to get too big for their britches."

"So this poison pill amendment is just to teach them a lesson?" Nesta asked.

"Beron wants them back in line," Eris affirmed.

Cassian and Nesta exchanged a look.

"You know," Eris nudged the cake towards Nesta again. "Tarquin has been pushing for a more strigent clean energy bill, close the loopholes for large corporations. He's been looking for the right co-sponsor."

Nesta nodded, understanding. Tarquin was the leader of the progressive caucus -- maybe, just maybe, there can be a deal.

Cassian looked at Eris pointedly, picked up Nesta's fork, and took a bite of cake. "Mmm, delicious," Cassian moaned theatrically. Nesta's lips quirked upwards into a slow smile.

Eris furrowed his brow in surprise.

Cassian swallowed, licking his lip. "And the defense budget?" Cassian asked deliberately. "Why is Beron pressing for a 20% increase?"

Eris pushed his plate away from him. He leaned back in his seat and assessed Cassian. "Does Starborn support widening the war in the Middle East?" Eris asked in response.

"Rhys served three tours in Afganistan," Cassian replied cooly. "His military record is unimpeachable."

"Does Starborn support widening the war?" Eris asked again.

This time, Cassian said nothing.

Eris looked smug. "That's what I thought." He stood up, put on his immaculate Italian wool jacket, and dropped a $20 bill on the table. "I'll call you later," Eris winked at Nesta and walked out the door.

---

---

---

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Tag list: @acourtofladydeath @fwiggle @swifti-ed

[deadpuppetboi]

So you think manhunt gangs would come together for movie marathon, Which movies do you think would be each gang's favorite?

I've tried hard to have to make this as accurate as possible, knowing their erratic personalities and such.

The Hoodz - Heat (1995)

Various movies encapsulate not only a bank robbery but how intense a shootout is such as Heat.

The Hoodz have had their fair share of bank robberies (even the ones with a badge) and have had times where they didn't know if they were going to make it. They take notes but share a good beer while at it, reminiscing on the ‘good old times.’

The Innocentz - Scarface (1983)

This movie has it all.

Drugs, gang wars, corruption, death, murder, and the disillusionment of The American Dream. Coming from immigrant parents or being immigrants themselves, The Innocentz (or some of them) found themselves in Tony Montana’s shoes. They want to hit it big and become the next drug lord like that one guy in Liberty City. Then again, they all love to reference ‘Say hello to my little friend’ whenever they watch the movie and laugh about it like the coked-up druggies they are.

The Smileys - The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland (1999)

The image of them SCREAMING at the screen in complete despair over Elmo losing his blanket is something I can see them doing.

It's what I did when I was younger so I can see every member doing the same and cursing any other character who bothered Elmo in the slightest. They take their valuables very seriously, especially Barry who holds his ‘daughters’ close to his heart, threatening anyone who dares to even touch them.

The Wardogs - All Quiet On The Western Front (1930)

There's a scene where the main character Paul is asked by his Professor to tell young men about his heroism and patriotism when he served in the war. At first Paul is hesitant as he has so words to say before he finally tells them the truth. The real truth. There is death. There is murder. There is no mercy. That is all.

“It’s dirty and painful to die for your country.”

And everyone calls him a traitor, a coward, an embarrassment of a soldier who should be proud to serve his country.

It's an anti-war movie, sure, but it stays with The Wardogs constantly even when they remember walking back to their hometowns after serving their time overseas.

Cerberus - Se7en (1995)

Let's be honest, these guys have faced the worst of the worst in their line of work.

They may work with Starkweather but they work with all sorts of stupid rich assholes who cause even the worst of crimes to each other. All because of the dumbest feuds, the mishandling of expensive products, and the greed of collecting the greens. Se7en displays a world they've seen countless times whether it be in their ‘normal’ job or the job they take shooting down who is against their boss. They’ve seen detectives look too far into their work, serial killers who tore into men/women/children for their sick desires, innocent people in the wrong place and time, and watch as the life in their lives fades away.

So a serial killer who bases his killings on the seven deadly sins is not far from what Cerberus has faced by far.

CCPD - Maniac Cop (1988)

Sometimes these guys watch even the most ridiculous films centered around cops just for the hell of it.

Whether it be for fun, to live through a power fantasy, or even just to watch countless people (innocent or not) die in horrific ways, it's still a classic for the whole precinct to watch this movie or watch the series in general. Watching a dead cop go on a killing spree across New York City while simultaneously setting fear into the hearts of men and women alike just brings absolute joy to the gang as a whole.

It's a classic, classics never die.

SWAT - Falling Down (1993)

All it takes is one bad day.

I’m sure that rigorous training, having to support a family with blood money, having to work with a very disgusting man who runs a snuff film industry, and having to kill people whether they were innocent or not will demonstrate some problems.

You get frustrated.

Upset.

Angry.

You want to be able to have things go your way but you can't and everyone looks at you like you’re selfish for it. You want to have a normal life and have a normal family outing but you’re plagued with images of corpses being rigorously shot at a far or close distance, their insides painting the walls. You feel like you’re going to lose it by your wife asking for more money, your kids wanting a new toy, or even the traffic blocking your way to your ‘regular’ job. You're going to lose your mind and you’re one bad thing away from grabbing that gun and letting lose on everyone who ever put their doubt into you.

But give the SWAT some credit, at least they have each other to vent out their frustrations when the pressure becomes too much.

The Skinz - None

No one asked them. No one likes them. They weren't even invited. If they rode up they’d be met with a rain of bullets.

Bonus!!!

The Camheadz - 8mm (1999)

This movie is about a snuff film.

I mean, I feel like this gang in particular plays a huge part in Mr. Nasty’s snuff films not because their heads are cameras but because I feel like each one of them has a distinct style in general.

Like, one wants to go after women, another goes after men, another the homeless, and so on. They all have their tapes, each inserted into their camera heads to record their best moments and to either save for themselves or to sell for a few more bucks. But let's be honest, they keep the tapes for themselves, just for personal reasons.

So to have a film perfectly demonstrates their lifestyle, even if it doesn't get everything right, it does play well into how deprived human beings can be just to get what they want.

The Clownz - It (1990)

I mean, duh, what else would they watch?

They saw the miniseries and studied the book like it was the Bible just to increase their obsession like the white-painted fiends that they are. Speaking out lines from the alien creature clown itself to either scare children or grown men alike.

We all float down here, Cash.

The Jury - Punishment Park (1971)

Imagine a world during the Vietnam War when President Nixon decreed that those who were ‘anti-war’ would be detained and forced to either spend time in jail or spend three days out in the desert being hunted down by police so that they may reclaim their so-called ‘freedom.’

That is Punishment Park.

A pseudo-documentary film that was highly controversial for its political views but is now highly regarded for taking a stance against the government. It seems like the kind of movie for The Jury knowing how they seem to take the law into their hands, display their political views, and see the movie like the manhunts they frequently did.

The Lost - Dark Days (2000)

Numerous movies depict the harsh and despairing reality of homelessness for those who are homeless.

It's a cold reality that millions of people face from the most remote or even the most popular of places. Always forgotten, always left behind, and always left in the dark. The Lost can heavily relate to this scenario not only because of the various reasons why and how they became the way they are and how. It's a normal day and night for Carcer City, just as bland and bleak as it has always been.

They can only dream of becoming as rich as Starkweather is but they’ll accept what they’re given, they don't have a choice.

[dxcinhx]

dropping some thoughts about vida here

i started watching this show for melissa barrera and i absolutely enjoyed it and have rewatched some episodes bc it's very entertaining

s3 felt kind of different, it was almost like the sisters switched roles at some points

i might be reading too much into it, but in the first few eps as emma and nico's relationship was going well i would look at emma's face and be like she's happy but she's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and of course it did. and i was so sad to see her clam up again and fall back into her whole "vulnerability = weakness" thing. for a few episodes she just looked so dead inside like she was seriously depressed and triggered with everything going on, like nico's secret wife and her awful dad making himself known

i love lyn so much but i need her to be single. i'm so glad she finally realized where her true priorities lie and that she needs to work on turning into a chameleon with the men in her life but i just hate that it happened in the last like 20 minutes of the series finale

side note but i was not expecting lyn to get so into religion for a hot minute. i mean i understand that it was her yet again molding herself to the people in her life, so i think she snapped out of it once her father showed his true colors but still like it was so jarring. god the man gave me such awful vibes and the last scene of him and emma after she confronted him was legitimately hard to watch

the sisters spent so much time apart and on different pages this season it made me sad :( i completely understand why but i do miss the moments in the first episode or in earlier seasons when they were sisterly and messing with each other

i love that mari had some more time this season to build herself up a little more and yes this is cruel to say but her dad dying is a blessing ! now she can finally look after herself and find people who appreciate what she does. honestly that man pretty much killed himself after he kicked out the only child who actually took care of him. ladies ask not what u can do for machismo but what machismo can do for u

speaking of this family i can't STAND johnny oh my GOD get off my screen and get away from the women in ur life all u do is hurt them

god i wish this new generation of shows had longer seasons. a 6 episode season is nowhere near enough to develop the characters and storylines better (even tho this season the episodes weren't all 30 min like s1 and s2). i was like holy shit things are happening so fast it's one terrible thing after the other but of course they are, they only have like 5 hours to tell the story!!

i'm really fond of this show and how witty it is, its integration of mexican and american and mexican-american cultures, the spanglish, the butch rep!! everything

actually one of my favorite moments this season was when lyn was talking to that european dude at her bf's mom's bday party (fuck her bf and his mom by the way holy shit he was such a weirdo) and she was talking about how difficult it is to be perceived as mexican by gringos while still not being mexican enough for mexicans. when she said she couldn't even hold a conversation in english or spanish i was like u read my mind. i'm literally incoherent. anyway it really resonated with me as an immigrant and i think it's such an important conversation to have!!

anyway emma and lyn repaired their relationship and their bigoted father is rotting in hell and they keep the bar and eddy's back too and everything is going better than ever, they told me so themselves <3

[militantinremission]

Is Montgomery just The Beginning?

All I have 2 say about that 'Riverboat Incident' in Montgomery, Alabama is: Y'all asked 4 it! When U watch the video, U can clearly see that Riverboat Captain getting attacked by a mob of Whitefolk, but somehow it's NOT a Hate Crime? Meanwhile, the Black teenaged girl charged w/ acting the fool on a NYC Subway Car (w/ her girlfriends) in front of an Asian Family, will likely face Hate Crime Charges.

I have been saying 4 a while that there is a Collective Mood rising up in Black America. The wanton killing of Black Men, Women, & Children; combined w/ a blatant attack on Black masculinity & a disregard 4 Black Specific Issues have reached a Boiling Point. Mainstream Media has bombarded Us w/ Black Images that We don't identify w/. Their 'Cultural Mores' aren't Ours. They represent Us On Screen & In Politics, but they don't move or behave like Us.

Whitefolk & their POC/ BIPOC proxies have gotten aggressive over the last 25Yrs. Immigrant Family don't have Our Experience & unless they have contact w/ Us, don't really know how 2 deal w/ White America. They're another 'Model Minority' that White Supremacy props up in Enclaves 2 scold Us about 'pulling up Our bootstraps'. These R the 'Black faces in High Places' that We see. These R the folks pushing the Democratic Party's Anti- Black Agenda.

Black America has been grumbling 4 Years, but the Reparations Conversation really got Us going. It was sobering 2 see Our Pan Afrikan Family react so strongly against Us. From Joy Reid & Roland Martin, 2 Talib Kweli & Sheila Jackson Lee, Anti Reparations rhetoric flowed. Blackfolk began murmuring in The Hood. I knew things were getting Hot, when local Street Cats were debating Reparations & The Black Agenda.

The New 'Southern Strategy' of blatant Anti Black Racism has been multifaceted. Gerrymandering is the Order of The Day, but Florida, Alabama, & Mississippi in particular, R pushing the envelope. These attempts 2 marginalize Indigenous Black Americans have emboldened some Whitefolk & Brownfolk Nationally. White (Hispanic) attacks of Blackfolk aren't new in Florida & California, but Illegal Immigrants bussed 2 Chicago have been getting physical w/ Black Chicagoans.

All of these Acts culminated in Blackfolk reacting 2 that Black Riverboat Captain in Montgomery being assaulted by a White Mob. Enough is enough! This reaction will probably bother Whitefolk (& some Brownfolk) as much as it warms the hearts of Blackfolk. We have been conditioned 2 reject solidarity; 2 the point where We have little 2 no regard 4 each other. Our Immigrant Family haven't concerned themselves enough 2 investigate this aspect of White Supremacy; possibly due 2 their own tribalism.

Despite this 'Program', Black Americans have conditioned ourselves that solidarity is necessary 4 Our survival in AmeriKKKa. We celebrate whenever We see examples of Black Solidarity on display. That is why so many 'Folding Chair' videos & memes R popping up. Kudos 2 All the Blackfolk that felt compelled 2 step in & help their Brother. We may be witnessing a New Black Power Movement- predicated on Identity & Lineage... America has been teaching her citizens that We R 'Disposable'- it's long overdue 2 show them All how wrong they R.

-The Diaspora is about 2 get a Lesson in Militancy.

[jops08]

Healthcare Contexts

The healthcare belief system in the Philippines depends on the region. The Philippines is a considered to be an intra-cultural diverse populace whne it comes down to looking at the health beliefs and health practices of the culture. We can see that Filipinos who live more in urban areas of the country are acculturated to how Americans see the healthcare system which is going to the hospital when you are not feeling well, and this is the most common approach now in the country. Filipinos who live more on the countryside prefer an indigenous approach, using more of a holistic and alternative medicines to sure any ailments. Even though these are two different perspectives there are some truths that can be found in both. The holistic approach is very knowledge about home remedies while the others are doing over-the-counter medications. There is only one issue though and that is the elderly populace because they view the old ways to be the way to cure their ailments but sometimes that doesn’t help, which requires more interventions, possibly from a healthcare provider. There are outreach programs trying to help the elderly in this country and make healthcare accessible to these rural areas.  

With Filipino culture there is one thing that holds a lot of value and that is family. Having a loved one's past may hit everyone in the family, but this is also an opportunity for the family to come together, which can strengthen family ties in the wake of a tragedy. We start what is called Siyam Na Araw which starts taking a more Catholicism route. There is a nine-day period in which prayers and masses are held which can be called novena. After the nine-period there is another event that happens on the 40th day in mourning. On the 40th day, the family members indicate their bereavement by wearing a small black rectangular pin on their clothes, usually placed on the left breast or left pocket. The believe in this because of Jesus Christ which is to be believed that ascended to heaven on the 40th day. With the power of technology and some family members immigrating to different countries it is now becoming more normal to see a funeral being live streamed so other family members may attend on screen but also spirit.  

I would tell my friend to keep an open mind and put aside any biases that they may have when they are in the country. I may tell them to investigate the family dynamic or hierarchical structure of the culture so they may know how to communicate to which family member when they must address any concerns but also not offend if mistakenly talking to wrong family member. The next piece of advice is to be flexible but also adaptable when communicating because there can be moments where they may not know customary practices when another is talking to them which can be difficult to understand. Through critical thinking on the spot and recognizing some social cues may help them understand the people and reach a solution. Lastly, one piece of advice is just to immerse themselves int the culture so they may grasp the point of view of the people.  

References 

Health beliefs and behaviors: Health behaviors. Geriatrics. (2024). https://geriatrics.stanford.edu/ethnomed/filipino/fund/health_beliefs/health_behaviors.html#:~:text=A%20complete%20cure%20or%20even,order%20to%20maintain%20group%20harmony. 

Death and dying: A Filipino American perspective. Diverse Elders Coalition. (n.d.). https://diverseelders.org/2019/12/03/death-and-dying-a-filipino-american-perspective/#:~:text=Among%20the%20rituals%20that%20Filipino,the%20week%20after%20the%20death. 

[zazariri]

Dear America

Dear America, 

I come to you as your citizen, engulfed in grief. I am not only mourning the indiscriminate slaughter of people in Palestine, in Congo, Sudan, Bhutan, Tigray, I could go on. I hold the pain of the Rohingya, the Uighurs. The Irish, the South African, and the former colonies. I come to you with my hands held up, to voice why I mourn and why for me, the American Dream is dead. Please don’t shoot. I come to you in quiet steps, in a voice on a screen, with words on a page. I write to you as my ancestors did as poets, as lyrical birthers of revolutionary songs, as recordkeepers of what has been done to us over and over again by the powers of this world. 

I was brought here at the tender age of two years old, carried by my young Bangladeshi mother, in pursuit of a life of dignity, safety, and possibility. At the age of 30, I thought I had done it, and achieved the American dream of leading a life of relative comfort. But what a cost for this comfort. We have paid for our iPhones and our hundreds of fast food chains by perverting the rights and lives of not only people in other nations but also by being convinced by our governments that this capitalist society constantly balancing itself on the edge of economic ruin is what we dream of. They say we want this. Do we? Do we want to live paycheck to paycheck while rent skyrockets and our right to real estate is mocked by asset management companies that also contribute to war? Did we ask for this? Did we ask for giving away the majority of our time here on Earth to work and toil so that we can pay our share of taxes only to know those same taxes are used to kill through a military that has grown to become so unchecked and so depraved of moral regulations that it justifies the indiscriminate bombing of hospitals? Families have lost soldiers coerced into giving their lives for what they thought was a just cause, while the true reasons come to light only after we have paid the costs. The reasons being corporate greed and puppet politicians that would rather wage wars than call for even a pause, so that they can justify their paychecks from lobbying groups and sleep comfortably in their bubbles. We do not pay our teachers living wages but we suggest they arm themselves. We cannot pay our firefighters, they ask for money on the streets hoping their local community will contribute while our police wear military uniforms and bring tanks to peaceful protests. Is this the American dream? 

I do not wish to hide my rage. But I must acknowledge the fear that I will be persecuted for voicing these things. You do not make your people feel safe. Our streets are overrun with shootings, and our hospitals are overworked witch sickness and corruption. Our Jewish brothers and sisters, our BIPOC brothers and sisters, our LGBTQ brothers, sisters, and non-binaries, our Muslim brothers and sisters, our immigrant brothers and sisters, our poor, our hungry, our forgotten…they all suffer. You are a government so focused on being the right voice that you have continually minimized and thwarted public discourse, which you with all your militarized might, find “scary”. You teach about America’s greatness in schools. But when will you teach about the kind of stories we see coming out of the rest of the world? Will you teach our children about Bisan in Gaza, an incredible woman who is fighting to stay alive and fighting to show the world what is being done to humanity? It is the least you can witness, the least you can do to let us pour our stories out while you continue to insult our ability to perceive your lies and your false narratives. 

In the name of “America First” campaigns, you give away our country’s money to brutal occupying regimes, and you take “donations” from institutions like Aipac that turn around and buy our politicians. You send Israel billions of our money to maintain a watchdog in the Middle East that helps you to continue creating terror, unchecked, for the innocent people in that region. Israelis enjoy the comforts of an advanced healthcare system for free. How does that make sense when Americans are dying for not being able to afford simple medications like diabetes medicine? You, along with the leaders that are in power, mock us and say there is no possibility for peace. Have you even tried? When have you tried? You write thousands and millions of lives off as collateral damage, while simultaneously telling us they hate us because we are “Free”. 

You have brutalized in our name, used our given resources to enrich yourselves and those that have your ear and your pockets, and further continued to try and silence the American people. Eighty percent of Americans want a ceasefire. How much louder must American voices be? You are meant to represent us, but I write for myself here today, you do not represent me. You never will now. For the American freedom I have cherished and loved has been bought and sold to the highest bidder. I will let you define my freedom no longer, America. 

The American people still have our voices. And if all we can do is scream and shout in the streets, then that will be our freedom. 

May liberty ring out from the corners of Palestine to show the world what it truly means to know yourself and to stand for justice for ALL. 

[nickgerlich]

Raising The Bar

I am a Midwest guy. I grew up in Chicagoland, spent all of my university years in Indiana, and took the majority of my vacations in the Midwest. I came to know the culture well, which was heavily influenced by the many northern Europeans who had immigrated there more than a century ago.

If you know the Midwest, you know that there are taverns everywhere, from the inner city of Chicago to the smallest farming community in Wisconsin. In fact, in those small towns, you will find a tavern before you find anything else, including C-stores. They are the hub of small-town commerce, gossip, and all-around community.

In Chicago, neighborhood taverns were on practically every street corner, and you were as likely to see the parish priest sitting on a stool as you would the local drunk. Actually, maybe the former was doing his job by ministering to the latter, albeit out-of-office. But I digress.

A sad thing is happening to those old taverns, though, particularly in the city. They are closing.

Now, to understand the Midwest tavern is to know they are typically dark, have a heavy emphasis on wood fixtures and paneling, and are usually not the place you would go to find an exotic craft beer. They are decidedly more pedestrian, blue collar. And, taverns often open as early as 7am or 8am, not so much to attend to the needs of problem drinkers, but to service shift workers getting off the graveyard.

Decorations typically fall into the category of “privilege signs,” meaning promotional signage (metal, cardboard, even neon) provided by breweries and distributors. In Chicago, there was (and still is) likely an Old Style Beer sign hanging over the front door. A lone television was usually on, but it was not the centerpiece, and often muted. The Cubs game might be on, or the news. Rare was the day when you saw a woman occupying one of those bar stools, because the tavern has always been a Man Cave of sorts, a refuge from all the stresses of life.

And the bartender was someone whom you would swear lived there. In fact, he may very well have occupied an upstairs apartment with his family. He was a fixture, and knew your name, would listen to your problems, and engage in whatever the political rant of the day was. Whenever he wasn’t pouring beer, he was washing and drying glasses.

So what happened? Why are there reportedly only one-third as many taverns in Chicago alone as there once were?

Simple. There has been a huge paradigm shift over the last half-century, with the arrival of restaurants positioning themselves as sports bars. While some of the taverns of old did serve food, it was limited, and sometimes only a Friday fish fry to serve the predominantly Catholic population. Today’s suburban oasis offers a full menu, a full bar, and dozens of big screen TVs so you can watch everything from baseball to corn hole, bowling, and poker.

Oh, and today’s modern tavern typically—at least in Texas—has a white paper sign visible near the door with a large “51%” on it. What’s that about? It means the establishment derives more than 51% of its revenues from food, which allows it to be classified as a restaurant instead of a tavern. During COVID that point of distinction was critical, because taverns were not deemed essential.

That distinction still has meaning today, and varies by state. In Texas, whether you are a bar or restaurant has implications on whether you can carry a firearm, but if you are trying to be a “restaurant,” there are rules governing how many menu items you must have at minimum. It’s messy.

Essentially, the tavern of old has been replaced by family-friendly establishments where women will feel more welcome, as well as the kiddos. And, the emphasis is also on watching sports. I see this as oddly contradictory endeavors. While it’s great that the whole family can go there (or groups of men and/or women), the fact that eyes are focused more on a big screen than on the F2F is telling of our time. At this point you have traded the small screen of your phone for a much larger one on the wall. Either way, you are more focused on that than human interactions.

You can almost be alone together, while at the tavern you could just be alone alone.I get it, though. Maybe we want to consume media while we dine and drink, and the more people the merrier. But the big screen is still the main attraction. Or 40 screens. Conversation, if there is any, tends to focus on the game and what just happened.

Spectator sports are not my thing, and I would much rather toss around lofty ideas than watch someone else tossing around a ball. Better yet, I crave a nice old-school tavern where I could go to gather my thoughts, do some writing, and escape the din of everyday life.

Alas, I must be as much a dying breed as is the tavern, the kind I grew up around in the Midwest. Maybe we can be buried together.

Dr “Call Me An Outlier” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[habbohoteldotdk]

16/09/2023

Yes, my screen time soared these past few weeks, but I went from 12+ hours to 5 to 6 hours a day, which is way more sustainable than trying to go from 10 hours to below 3 hours overnight.

My mental health improved, because of one other reason. My environment changed. I moved somewhere else because of university and the difference between living in a social housing in a ghetto where all the ‘undesirables’ (immigrants, poor people mostly, just like my family) are stashed in, and a village with a CASTLE, beautiful green spaces, parks, a reliable public transportation system was so drastic it did wonders for my mental health.

And for the first time, I lived alone. My place was as calm as I let it be. Nobody bothered me with their incessant laughter or calls where they literally bark to get their point across. Nobody blasted their music. I didn’t have to see anyone I didn’t like. No one invited themselves into my place. It was pure bliss.

I realised my depression is reactive. I don’t suffer from any sort of chemical imbalance, I was (and still am, because I had to return back home) suffering from my environment.

This week-end I had to come back home and it really opened my eyes as to how your environment can make or destroy you. It’s such a privilege to live in a house.

The same mechanisms that led me to become addicted to the internet are creeping back in now that I’ve come back home. They boil down to me having a shitty home life.

University is my one and only chance to change my situation. One day I’ll be a dentist, one day I’ll have my own house, car, appliances, devices, whatever, and one day I’ll be free to do what I want, and I won’t have to rely on the internet as a crutch anymore.

[furt1ve999]

Today afterschool admin is like, "yeah, we're really glad we've had you this year, the kids love you, the parents love you . . ." (I wept in full view of everybody on two distinct occasions Friday.) I go in to talk to one of the English teachers after school so we can connive to steal the kids outside on "get their energy out" break at a same time during this last, insane, meaninglessful week of school and we discuss a teacher who has drawn the ire of the parents and students alike, a very sweet woman, probably not coming back next year; and me and the English teacher both know that the ire is not because of her herself, or her as a teacher, but rather because she has a reasonably heavy foreign accent and teaches a difficult subject. The teachers have their cliques, they like and dislike among themselves, but every last one of them tells me: "it's okay, you're doing great, it's a really hard time of year, the kids love you, you've made such an impact, the structure of this job is weird, this situation doesn't necessarily set people up for success." Seventh graders playing mild keep away from me as lunchtime ends; math teacher steps in to help sternly-speak-at-them so the ball comes back to me, but I was going to get it back anyway. While I'm speaking to her, another student comes up to me, can we use that ball for just like five minutes (yes, and you didn't have to justify yourself, I'm surprised you don't know that.) I'm broke, I'm ill, I'm lonely, and yet I'm mighty healthy; "your kindness and hospitality have really meant a lot to me over the school year" — my cup runneth over. Immigrant teacher who's not coming back next year showed me her family on the lock screen of her phone, three kids — "my oldest son is about your age, I think about that sometimes with you." Biology teacher stops in to chat with me after school; high school physics man (hated by the college counselor) gives me a manlyworldly talk in the bathroom as I wiped the snot off my face, my eyes angry red. Kid who said he hated my earrings last week told me he liked them today. Played chess against two fourth graders at the same time. Heat up 3-0 on the Celtics. Painful bruise on my knee from diving from loose balls in pick-up basketball with ninth graders. Have a crush on the server girl (who I'll never see again) from the bar-restaurant I went to to drink water with my parents and sister while she was in town. Smoke weed 5 days in 7; the quality of my voice is beginning to change. Terse neck tattoo guy who owns 24 hour corner store has started calling me "bro." Offered a coke to guy outside municipal court on my way back coz he chatted me up about the weather on the way up, and he took it as a strung-out junkie couple descended upon him, do you have a cigarette, thank you for being here. Lady whose parking space I steal with her permission smiled at me as I pulled under the awning. I get away with everything because I remind the math teacher of Harry Potter. I haven't shaved my face like this in years, but I grew the thickest beard (goatee) I ever had to fly to Europe and break up with the girl I was hung up on for the entirety of covid. Went to childhood friend's grad party, made small talk, opened up to my mother on the way there. Ignoring the check engine light on in my car. Lying to others in the way that has become the same as telling the truth, and telling the truth to myself in the way that has become the same as lying. Admiring nipples through shirts at every opportunity

[manwalksintobar]

Crowns  // Kate Daniels

for Philip Levine

Around the time I first read the poetry of Philip Levine, my teeth were fixed. Two or three hundred bucks (I’ve forgotten now) purchased a brand new me, two porcelain crowns. In the dentist’s chair, my midget canines were filed down to sharp, bright points hardly larger than the bronzed end of a Bic pen, then crammed in the black-backed caps of two hardened, china fakes. No more covering my mouth to obscure the evidence of faulty genes. No more tears at images embezzled from graduation picnics when Darrell Dodson picked me up and slung me in the pool, and someone took a picture of my lips slacking back to reveal my gums in what appeared to be a scream. No more breezes winding through the gappy pickets of my ill-grown teeth and down my throat. No more worrying some boy would snag his tongue in the zigzagged bulkhead of my upper row, and bring us both to blood.

I’ll love Levine forever for confessing his own struggles with orthodontia, his rot-plagued “Depression mouth,” a dentist called it, his cavities and root canals, his occipital pain, for his photograph in Antaeus, the summer of ’78, the stained and crooked slabs parked compellingly behind his grin. Our teeth connected us before the poetry, he, from the immigrant onion-eaters and temperate tipplers of Manischiewtz. I, from a long line of tannin-stained Irish Catholics who smoked themselves to fragile states of calcium depletion, and a recent run of Carolina gritballs, too poor to brush, too ignorant to care their teeth retired in early middle age. I can see them now, perplexed before an apple’s crispy rind, frustrated by a succulent, stringy rack of pork ribs barbequed in the side lot of Earlene Worsham’s gas station south of town. Levine would have understood my uncles, enthroned on plastic-covered kitchen chairs patched with tape, their work boots kicking up mucky clouds of chiggery dirt, their pick ups parked nearby, shotguns in the rack, sucking on cheap beers and harsh cigarettes, their nails starved by nicotine to yellow curls, the car grease embedded permanently in the creases of their hands.

When I met him, he was such a mensch, massive in my mind, but in the flesh, something touching about his shoulders in the worn tweed jacket, something vulnerable in his feet in an ordinary pair of soiled, white sneakers. He opened his mouth to laugh, one side rising up like it does, in that derisive gesture that seems, at first, a sneer, and I remembered my mother flexing back her lips to remove delicately, with two stained fingers, just so, a fleck of tobacco lodged between her teeth, and saw again my father flossing at the table with the torn off cover of a paper book of matches, then stubbing out his butt in the yellowed, oily pod of broken yolk that was hemorrhaging across his breakfast plate.

I can face those images now without the shame I carried in the days before the poetry of Phil Levine liberated me. I can look at anything now, because I keep his picture in my mind and his poems in my pocket. I can stand my life because I wear the crown he constructed for people like me — grocery checkers, lube jobbers, truck drivers, waitresses — all of us crowned with the junkyard diadems of shattered windshields and rusty chains, old pots with spit tobacco congealing inside, torn screen doors and gravestones in the front yard, just five short steps from life to death…

So there is my family with their broken beer bottles and patched shoes, their mutts chained in a back yard carved from a stingy pine woods, on cheap land out near the county dump where the air swells with the perfume of trash, a circle of them playing poker in a trailer somewhere in the woods, or razoring the state decal from the windowshield of a ransacked wreck to transfer to my brother’s car. Or cleaning fish on the back porch and throwing the guts to the tick-clogged dogs, or frying venison in a cast-iron pan and stinking up the house with that heavy smell, showing the buck’s big balls in a plastic cannister that once held salt. Or burning tires in a field some autumn, scumming the sky with a smoky, cursive black they can’t even read but inhale poisonously again and again.

And there I am, walking along tolerantly now, with Phil Levine, his poems in my pocket, his good rage gathered in my heart and I can love them again, the way I did in the years before I saw what they were and how the world would use them and accepted the fact they were incapable of change. We’re in a field I used to love, a redbone coonhound running ahead her ears dragging the edges of the goldenrod till they are tipped in pollen, like twin paintbrushes dipped in gilt. And the world is hunting dogs and country music and unschooled voices bending vowels and modest kitchen gardens where late tomatoes are tied up with brownish streamers of old nylon hose. The vast way your chest expands when the sun gradually sets in mid-fall in central Virginia. The tobacco barns glimmering in last light, the chinks darkening now, the slats solidifying at the close of day and your mind opening up like the pine forest swishing fragrantly overhead way up in the dark that is coming, but remains, for the moment, beautifully at bay.

[rqqsee]

The daughter of an immigrant.

Sometimes I wonder how different things could’ve been if I wasn't a daughter of an immigrant. If my parents had been white. Would I have gone through the same religious trauma I do now? Praying to a god I don’t believe exists but I wear a rosary around my neck to please those around me. Because heaven forbid I believe in something differently to them. I wonder if I would be able to come out to my parents, telling them how I think women are beautiful. Would they be able to understand my love for Maya Hawke or my seventh grade girlfriend? Who is long gone but has a place in my heart. I wonder if I would have been as insecure of my features. If I would have gone through the hating my body phase eating less and less faced with an eating disorder which I still cannot get out of. Hating my big nose and forbidding glasses to ever touch my face. Because once they do I’m suddenly in the fifth grade being called Mia Khalifa who I didn’t even know existed but suddenly I’m a pornstar. I wonder if I would have been friends with the girls I was friends with. The girls who were much prettier than I ever could be. Who made me feel horrible about myself. I wonder if my mother would comment on my body or tell me that my room needs to be cleaner than my brothers because I’m a girl. Or if I would have been compared to my cousins as much as I am now. Look at Hannah going to Uni to do medicine or business. Look at Sarah, how pretty and skinny she is. Did you know she’s becoming a teacher? What are you going to do with your life, they ask and I don’t know but I lie because that’s the quickest way they’ll stop talking. Accounting I say and they smile. Knowing I could never do that because I’m not as smart as they are. I’m not as skinny as they are and I’ll never be as good as they are. If I wasn’t a first generation Australian would my life be better or worse? Would I get as much pressure as I do now or less? And as a daughter of an immigrant who am I to complain about what I have. My parents had it worse, they escaped a war after all. And that will forever be held over my head, that they had it worse. That their teachers abused them and I’m so lucky. Some days they had to go without food or water and that I shouldn’t complain because I’m so lucky. Because heaven forbid I feel sadness, or anger. To the point where all I want to do is cry because I realise my options and I can’t do one but the other is horrible. But it’s the only path I can go down. Hide who I am, try to be perfect. Be as good as Hannah, be as skinny as Sarah. Putting on pretty makeup until my nose is small and my lips are big. And of course love a boy. Even if it’s pretend, a little white lie. I did want to be an actress growing up and my best performance will be to love him like I loved my seventh grade girlfriend. But what will happen if I fall in love with a girl and she loves me? Must I go through my entire life pretending, just like I went through the entirety of high school pretending to be smart, pretending to be everything which I will never be. Is that what’s awaiting me outside of high school? A lifetime of pretending. If I must be honest, I’m scared. Terrified even. But I must do it. No matter how hard it is. I must do it. I have to pretend I care for the children I don’t want. What happens when I’m a bad mother? Not if I’m a bad mother, when. Because I already know I won’t be a good one, for they were conceived with me hating the man I’m with all because I’m a first generation immigrant, with parents’ whose life was worse than mine. Will my children go through what I went through? Am I imploding them with a lifetime of struggle? Will my family go through generations pretending yearning and wishing for what they aren't? Will my children also wish to be white as I have wanted? Will my daughters forebode glasses because they too are compared with a pornstar? Will they never see themselves on the screen? Will they have to forfeit their dreams because my life was worse than theirs? How I ask and plead for an answer for these questions which I’ll never get. Because I plead to a god who I don’t believe in, and because of that I will have a lifetime of misery. 

[ogratman]

That is a long read btw, put your seatbelts on.

I feel like what Encanto is doing amazingly (at least from my perspective) is that it allows the viewers to somehow experience so many emotions, even these that you actually never personally experienced. I’m feeling all these shrimp emotions and they break me apart. Maybe that is what is the most compelling about this movie and why I surprised myself and clung to it so strongly. The overlapping, simultaneously heartbreaking as they are heartwarming themes, the fact that it is an extremely accurate depiction of life, that it’s representational not only culturally but also universally.

Now, let me be clear on that before any accusations of “white person who doesn’t understand that this movie is a representation of Latino community”. I do, but that’s the whole point; its speaking about generational trauma, about being forced to flee your home because of war, it speak about tight extended family and expectations that immigrant family members might imprint on their children. And its amazing to watch honestly, there is more than enough movies about white people; I love that Disney created something that is so tightly representational for other cultures. Something that kids could look up to and see themselves in it; that should be the norm.

But there are other things that make this movie so greatly universal, that even if not for representation, people can feel a deep connection with this movie. It’s the family dynamics and your deeply rooted placement as a member of that family. It’s the pressure to always be able to carry everything, about being a model child that you are expected to be. But its also the pressure of being different, being “difficult” or a burden on people who you love, which makes you feel like you are the one to blame, because there must be something wrong with you if they consider you a “black sheep”. It’s about how trauma travels from person to person, and spreads like a virus, to the point when it starts breaking the family from inside out. Casita’s walls breaking was a great physical representation of how mistreatment that is ignored for too long, and denial and lack of communication destroys the unit that is supposed be held together. They were all just simply playing the roles that they were assigned to play, they were less individuals as they were a material, sentient holder for their gifts. Nobody was talking honestly to each other, everyone did everything in their power to hold the family image together to the point when both publicly, but also privately nobody was able to fully be themselves. If you are strong you can’t relax, if you are perfect you are not not able to get messy and explore yourself. Pepa wasn’t even able to fully experience the scope of her emotions, because her gift affected the weather, because it was so glaringly obvious what she felt at any given moment. This is the family when one family member was so deeply shunned and vilified, that he decided that the best thing for the family would be to just simply remove themselves. And then he was made into a children horror story and a bad omen (you can see here that my feelings for Bruno, in particular, are intense and mighty, I will defend him with my life).

Another thing that I find somehow impressive is that all these characters, regardless of their flaws, are so complex and so amazingly human, that it makes them all too likeable. Like, look how many characters are in this movie, majority of them gets scrapes of screen time and yet… and yet somehow it’s so easy to see who they are as people, what their personalities are. To be honest, that might also be the case of me imagining things and just involuntarily adding to the story or reading too much into it (i’m not fully sure if that’s not the case). But nevertheless. I disliked Isabella at the beginning, but as the movie progressed it showed that maybe a lot of her behaviour was completely understandable. Same with Abuela. Like, the ways they went about it was obviously bad and it’s not an excuse to treat others the way they did in certain situations (Isabella being a bit more of a next step of a chain reaction stemming from Alma), but God does it makes so much sense. The pressure, the trauma and need to protect something to the point when you lose the focus on what was the point of protecting to begin with. Almost every single person in this family makes so much sense overall, both for storytelling purposes but also for relatability.

God, I could probably write a Dissertation about this movie alone if I tried hard enough and used some psychology major family department tricks (and here I am trying to convince people that I don’t actually constantly psychoanalyse things).

[moonlayl]

So I watched Turning Red, and I’ve been reading different people’s thoughts and meta (not by those who are threatened by a movie about a thirteen-year-old Chinese Canadian girl...) and while many have already talked about why this movie is so important (better than I ever could), there’s a few small details I want to point out, that I noticed as a Canadian woc that honestly made me so happy. 

1. The movie being so clearly set in Canada.

I cannot be the only Canadian that instantly smiled when I noticed the Tim Horton’s timbits on the table during one of the breakfast scenes. Or how easily Jin (the father) popped one in his mouth in only one bite. Every Canadian knows Tim Hortons. Also, the tuque Mei wears is covered in the the Canadian maple leaf pattern. The shirt she wears to sleep also has the maple leaf, and they danced in front of the Canadian Flag when they were singing. While this movie is about a young girl of color, I know I’m not the only person of color in Canada excited to see Canadian poc on screen in a movie actually SET in Canada. (we can see the multiculturism) 

2. Muslim girls wearing hijab.

I myself am Muslim, and I noticed not one, not two, but multiple different girls or women wearing the hijab during this movie. And it was not just one character. And it wasn’t the same color scarf either. I have literally never watched anything set in a Western country that had multiple Hijabis. It was surreal. And it was included as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it was just a normal thing. Because in many places in Canada, it is. 

3. Abby and Mei.

They are both East-Asian, yet they are drawn so clearly different (the idea that East Asians are all the same and look exactly the same is still prevalent, unfortunately). Their experiences as East Asian immigrants (or descendants from immigrants) living in Canada is also different and shows that not all immigrants have the same exact experience. While Mei struggles to understand her family singing in Cantonese, Abby is shown to speak Korean in multiple instances, highlighting the differences between those two girls when it comes to their language, and yet neither one is judged for it (and nor should they be)

4. Diabetes.

This one is the one I’ve seen spoken about the most, but two different characters were shown to have Diabetes in a subtle way. One of them, Stacy, was also a reoccurring character.  

This movie offers so many different children (and even adults) the opportunity to see themselves on screen, and I am so here for it.