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since the last time i posted here i:

- graduated college
- got a “career job”
- got an apartment in dc

and a lot of lifetime memories in between

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Let me just use this little #bringbackourgirls hashtag here to assist in disproportionately drawing all the world’s media attention to Nigeria and empowering this whole “white men needing to save brown women from brown men” militaristic lens that totally ignores the West’s own rampant human trafficking problems, its abusive use of labor camps and factories in parts of the world where women are worked to death for our financial gain, its exploitation of resources in developing countries — whether current or during Western colonialist expansion into these territories — that has resulted in such a deadly quality of life for women around the world, oh, and, you know, our military campaigns that have caused more destruction to the lives of women and children than Boko Haram ever will.

#bringbackourgirls alright. Even the Palestinian schoolgirls getting teargassed and imprisoned by Israeli forces on America’s dime, the Afghani girls getting gangraped and murdered by US soldiers, and Pakistani girls that are either being killed or being orphaned by our stellar drone strike program. Bring back ALL our girls.

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my dreams are drumming in my ears so loudly that it’s kind of hard to focus on this exam paper right now

The first time I learned about DoubleTree cookies was sophomore year when I was having a bad day. A friend of mine wanted to cheer me up and claimed that he knew of a cookie that would put me in a good mood no matter what. Didn’t know that the next time I’d have one of these would be right before I graduate, in Boston, after checking into my DoubleTree hotel room to perform at an event the next day.

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It’s at random deep hours of the night like this that I can almost remember the world of fantasies and dreams that I receded myself into for some many years, and that I got pulled away from when I entered college.

My thoughts were so vivid and I lived them out so passionately in my head that they almost seem like past lives now, or forgotten memories that tingle the senses when I encounter something that reminds me of them again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully remember what they were, but I can recall key themes that I set my heart on, that I hope surface in my life at some point, inshallah.

Maybe my reality will finally start catching up with my mind in 2014, God willing.

Anonymous ASKED:

What sets Jordanian culture apart from say Lebanese or Syrian culture?

My patriotic Jordanian-nationalistic colonized side was about to answer this with a bunch of talk about mansaf, street slang, and red keffiyehs, but the truth is there isn’t much of a difference at all — especially in the greater Syria region you mention. The only differences that exist between any Arabs are regional. The distinction between nationalities was constructed for us as a way to hone in on superficial differences and divide us.

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you know when runners are behind the start line waiting for the sound of the gunshot to ring and they start getting into position and scratching their foot against the ground and rubbing it in to get a good footing before that starting shot rings and they take off? that’s what senior year feels like right now.

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