Sometimes I think about the fact we’re neighbors. There are more things that bring me and a Palestinian woman living in Gaza together than things bringing us apart.
We grew up watching the same sunsets, the same sunrises. If there were no borders, it would take about an hour for us to go and visit one another. We grew up listening to the same music. Our parents did, too.
Our grandparents read poetry in the same language, watched the same Egyptian movies. The foods are similar, the hobbies are, too. When I was in high school I met a girl my age, who grew up in Gaza but relocated with her family to an Arab village within Israel, a five minute drive from where I used to live. We made movies together. We joked a lot. We were one and the same, more often than not.
I can’t stop thinking about the Palestinians in Gaza. I can’t stop thinking about the horrors they endure. I can’t stop thinking about Palestinian men, women and children, having to fight for food. For hygiene products. For water. I can’t stop thinking about them having no time to hide before a bomb hits, about them not being allowed to evacuate. I can’t stop thinking about the ones who died protesting for a better life, long before this war started. They are my neighbors. We watch the same sunsets.
I can’t stop thinking about the hostages, either. I can’t stop thinking about the desecrated bodies of innocent women paraded around Gaza’s streets. I can’t stop thinking about the sisters who were raped and murdered together, aged 13 and 16. The older one was my sister’s friend. I can’t stop thinking about Shlomo Ron, the art-loving 80 year old man who sacrificed his own life to save his wife and grandchildren. He looks just like my grandpa. I can’t stop thinking about Thomas Hand, who was told his little girl was dead and cried tears of joy, because being dead is better than being taken hostage. I can’t stop thinking about the fact Emily Hand didn’t die, and actually was taken hostage. Ever since she was released, she only whispers, too afraid to speak up.
I can’t stop thinking about the suffering. About the loss. About the mothers on both sides of their border who had to watch their children die. About the pain.
Their faces haunt me.
I don’t understand why the West is calling for a ceasefire when they should be calling for peace. I don’t understand why the West is calling for the destruction of Israel when they should be calling for a solution that will allow both people to live side by side, in peace. I don’t understand why the existence of Israel is a bad thing. I don’t understand why the West refuses to call out Hamas, for the crimes of October 7th and their gross mistreatment and neglectful leadership of the Palestinian people ever since they rose to power. I don’t understand why the West views this decades old conflict through a one sided lens, amplifying the voice of one people’s crying and shutting down the other’s.
We deserve better. Palestinians and Israelis deserve better. We deserve to prosper, we deserve to live long and proud of our heritages in the land we both call home.
Maybe one day nations around the world and our own corrupt leaders will stop making us paint one another as the enemy. Israelis and Palestinians, we’re not each other’s enemies. We’re each other’s neighbors.
We deserve to let our children play.
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i saw that review on letterboxd of all the rhetorical questions for barbie and like… the more i think abt it, the more i’m certain that the review’s author fundamentally misunderstood the film. barbie land is not a utopia in the way that adults would think abt a utopia, like the author seems to imply… barbie land is canonically shaped by little girls playing with their dolls. that’s why we see a supreme court. thats why there are nobel prizes and authors and lawyers (also because that’s how the toys are marketed… would there be a mermaid in ur utopia??? there would be in mine!). that’s why barbie and ken don’t necessarily know what a boyfriend and girlfriend are “meant” to do (not to mention that the author’s assumption that sex is fundamental to a romantic relationship is problematic at best). that’s why barbie is indifferent to ken (i personally had the life size barbie and my sister had the barbie dream house—we had the working woman barbie game, i had the genie barbie gameboy game, we had countless barbie dolls; we didn’t own a single ken doll lol). barbie land is a world created by and for little girls as they play with their dolls (she says in a comment on the original post “don’t little girls play with their dolls in a sexual way?” and yeah, sure, some do. but i didn’t and i’m sure there are others who didn’t… just like there are some girls who completely mutilated their own dolls and made them into horrifying creatures)… that’s why stereotypical barbie starts having an existential crisis—because a grown woman begins to play with her doll again and starts reshaping barbie land… we, as the audience, are meant to understand this as an outlier to how barbie land is canonically created. the author also calls ken “crass” and “slovenly”… maybe after he builds the patriarchy in barbie land he becomes “crass” but i wouldn’t call him slovenly at any point in the film (i suppose this is just semantics tho).
also, please stop saying that barbie land is a reversal of the real world. it isn’t, even if that may have been the filmmakers intentions. again, barbie is indifferent to ken. she does not abuse him, she does not treat him like he exists to service her by cooking or cleaning or providing other favors for her… barbie does not oppress ken in the way that men oppress women in the real world (we have no idea if he owns property or where he lives and she doesn’t seem to particularly care—extremely different from the fact that women couldn’t have their own bank accounts or credit cards, get a mortgage on their own or divorce their husbands through no fault divorce until the second half of the 20th century in the us… within a lot of our mothers and grandmothers lifetimes!!!!) and it is a complete disservice to conflate or equate the two. we actually see barbie drawing clear boundaries around her time and space in regards to ken—this is not a reversal of misogyny as women and girls experience it in the real world, by any stretch of the imagination.
is the film perfect or revolutionary or radical? of course not. it was produced by major studios and corporations in hollywood. of course the barbie movie is a fucking commercial for barbie, like… to expect anything different is just extremely dumb on your part if u saw the trailer, saw the marketing, saw the interviews, bought a ticket, and sat ur ass in the theater, like be fuckin serious. but don’t do women and girls a disservice by discrediting the world and thoughts and ideas it could open up for them by seeing themselves be taken seriously on screen in a major summer blockbuster with stupid fucking questions because u want to feel superior to everyone else because YOU and ONLY YOU see through the capitalist marketing of lipstick pop girlboss feminism (especially when juxtaposed with the way the female characters are treated in oppenheimer, which we cannot help but compare to the barbie film with the viral marketing of barbenheimer).
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Sometimes when your parents are angry they’ll say something that gives light to their own childhood and you realize Holy Shit a) that explains it and b) that’s so sad.
Thinking specifically about one story my mom would always proudly tell when I did something wrong about how “easy “ I have it. As a child a great grandparent was asked to get something from a drawer—specifically the bottom drawer. They went all the way upstairs, checked the drawer, couldn’t find the thing, then came back down to report to their mother. And this woman apparently hit the fucking roof. The reasoning being that the kid “didn’t think” to check the other drawers when they couldn’t find it in the first one. The kid in question was 5 years old. This is an age where if you put the same amount of water in a short wide cup and a tall thin one, they’ll say there’s more in the taller one because the level is higher. And the fact that this story was passed down from generation to generation as an example of how the child was in the wrong and as a guide on how a kid’s mistakes should be handled is infuriating and incredibly depressing. Anyway I always took it as she said until one day, after having learned a tiny bit of developmental psychology, where I took an incredibly calculated risk and said something like, “that’s really sad. A 5y/o can’t necessarily reason at that level—their brain development isn’t physically there yet. For their mom to get so irrationally mad at them because she forgot where she put something was really low. She should have been able to own up to her own mistake.” And I’ll tell you normally a comment like this would’ve got me murdered, but I don’t think she’d ever quite…thought about it that way. She went quiet and changed the subject, and since then it’s never been brought up with that same haughty “see how good you have it! People deserve to be treated like this!” energy.
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why is it that every time without fail, the “easiest” options are the ones that are the most painful? i don’t want to put myself through hell anymore. but it’s so fucking tempting sometimes to just let myself suffer if it means the path is a little smoother in the long run.
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the worst part of the entire ticketmaster fiasco is just,,,,,, where else are we supposed to buy tickets from? i want ticketmaster to burn to the ground. i want them to suffer and face the consequences of dynamic pricing, canceling general sales, insane fees, and allowing resales to happen. i want them gone. but also i really want a fun and unique concert experience and that fucking sucks because there’s no where else i can get concert tickets anymore thanks to the monopoly that is ticketmaster. my heart is beyond broken right now and i hate that going to concerts have become insane migraines instead of exciting moments in life. this is just so gross and the worst part is it’s not like anything is going to be done about it yk. i hate it here i truly do
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I keep getting yelled at about EXTREMELY minor things at my job. Like stuff that is absolutely not a problem and is just me working casually. Like I was hosting and one of the owners (who also works as a server, it’s a small restaurant) takes over and leads them to their table. And after he’s done sitting them I said ‘hey was that the 8:15 reservation or was that a walk in?’ Because I needed to mark them as here. And he literally shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes at me. And then my other coworker yelled at me because I was getting the plates ready before I wiped down the table that just left. Instead of wiping it down first. And then getting the plates ready. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing wrong, I’ve only been working there for a month and it’s my first job in the service industry. I don’t understand why they don’t like me when I try extremely hard every day. And it’s so frustrating when you’re doing your absolute best and somehow that’s not good enough. And on top of that I can’t even tell them that I have arthritis and I’m hard of hearing because I know exactly how it goes, where they’ll consider my disabilities to be proof I can’t properly do my job, and they’ll find an excuse to get rid of me that isn’t directly stating it’s because of my disabilities. It’s happened to me before. I’m so tired and exhausted and burnt out and all I care about is working enough so I can have enough money to support myself. It’s the only thing that really matters to me because it’s all I have. And I can’t even do that correctly. I hate my body in indescribable ways because it’s not how i look, it’s about how it’s failing me so fucking young and how I’m slowly losing my ability to walk and use my hands. At 20. I was diagnosed at 20. Everything is stacked against me and no matter how hard I try, it’s all falling apart because america isn’t designed to help disabled, poverty ridden young women. I just don’t know what to do when my best isn’t good enough.
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