Red. Black. Green.

Read My Mind...

127 notes

calypsorises: The perfect ones. The beautiful ones. The right ones, the just ones, the nobles ones. The ones who never break down crying in restaurants, who never do anything in secret they would be ashamed of. The normal ones. The healthy ones. The ones who always plan ahead. The content ones. The happy ones. The ones who work hard and reap the benefits, who brush and floss after every single meal. The well-adjusted ones. The popular ones. The ones who never disappoint, the little boys who do grow up to be president. The lucky ones. The ones with perfect skin and perfect teeth and perfect figures. The ones who want what they have and have what they want. They don’t exist. The ones posing as them are even more fucked up than you. Remember.

calypsorises:

The perfect ones. The beautiful ones. The right ones, the just ones, the nobles ones. The ones who never break down crying in restaurants, who never do anything in secret they would be ashamed of. The normal ones. The healthy ones. The ones who always plan ahead. The content ones. The happy ones. The ones who work hard and reap the benefits, who brush and floss after every single meal. The well-adjusted ones. The popular ones. The ones who never disappoint, the little boys who do grow up to be president. The lucky ones. The ones with perfect skin and perfect teeth and perfect figures. The ones who want what they have and have what they want.

They don’t exist. The ones posing as them are even more fucked up than you.

Remember.

(Source: nec-plus-ultra)

2,279 notes

There is no African, myself included, who does not appreciate the help of the wider world, but we do question whether aid is genuine or given in the spirit of affirming one’s cultural superiority. My mood is dampened every time I attend a benefit whose host runs through a litany of African disasters before presenting a (usually) wealthy, white person, who often proceeds to list the things he or she has done for the poor, starving Africans. Every time a well-meaning college student speaks of villagers dancing because they were so grateful for her help, I cringe. Every time a Hollywood director shoots a film about Africa that features a Western protagonist, I shake my head — because Africans, real people though we may be, are used as props in the West’s fantasy of itself. And not only do such depictions tend to ignore the West’s prominent role in creating many of the unfortunate situations on the continent, they also ignore the incredible work Africans have done and continue to do to fix those problems.

Uzodinma Iweala, “Stop Trying to ‘Save’ Africa”

(via cammyyy)

(Source: ryanmichael-s, via dangercurls)