«'I have some good news for you, and some bad news. The bad news first. We’re going to have to rip off either your fingernails or toenails with pliers. I’m sorry, but it’s already been decided. It can’t be changed…..here’s the good news. You have the freedom to choose which it’s going to be - your fingernails or toenails…you have ten seconds to make up your mind. If you’re unable to decide, we’ll rip off both your fingernails and toenails’.’ I start the count. At about 8 seconds most people say ‘the toes’. ‘Okay’, I say, ‘toenails it is. But before I do, I’d like you to tell me something. Why did you choose the toes and not the fingers?’. The person usually says ‘I don’t know. I think they probably hurt the same. But since I had to choose one, I went with the toes’….
“Each of us is given the freedom to choose,” Aka said, winking and smiling. “That’s the point of the story.”»
Haruki Murakami, Colourless Tsukuru Tazaku and His Years of Pilgrimage (via 5ft1)
I just finished reading this. emosh rn
Imma be jus’ like rei kawabuko
I’ve never had skinny legs, but thought fuckit they tan.
«Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to Western Union and Money Gram. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on.»
Immigrants. First generation.
«Growing up in Afghanistan, the biggest thing we craved as a female youth was independence and education- but instead we got death or marriage. Your generation has the education and independence they need to thrive, but their thirst for marriage makes them take it for granted. Never give men importance. Conquer your youth and stay true to becoming the woman you want to be- because you don’t need a man to do so.»