I will turn myself into a gun, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.
judge and jury, audiomachine (instrumental) ◆ seven nation army (remix), the glitch mob (I’m bleeding / right before the lord / all the words are gonna bleed from me / and I will think no more.) ◆ welcome to bangkok, brand new (space cadet…pull out.) ◆ intro, the xx (instrumental) ◆ american x, black rebel motorcycle club (there’s nothing here that is left to be saved / take a bow to the warrior state.) ◆ bahnhof rumble, the chemical brothers (instrumental) ◆ parentheses, the antlers (arm in a sling, / I don’t owe you anything / I’m a bad amputee, / with no phantom memory.) ◆ earth death, baths (come kill me / I seem so brittle / come kill me / I seem so little.) ◆ anybody’s ghost (the national cover), silver swans (said it was not inside my heart, it was / said it should tear a kid apart, it does.)
Michael Biberstein - Landscape with Predella Nos. 2 & 1 (1988)
Do you speak Indian?
It is the first sentence she learns to dread; dreads the sheer ignorance dripping from it, the willful blindness that accompanies this question, the way it makes her feel like a tiger in a cage being asked to perform a trick.
(The next question always is, oh can you teach me how to say something?)
She wishes she could answer by sticking her tongue out (or maybe, sticking two fingers in the air, that should shock them all right), but whenever she tries, her mum pulls her aside and tells her not to make faces, be polite. She cannot understand why she needs to be polite, it’s not as though they’re making efforts to be polite.
Her twin only pinches her and shakes her head at her. Just do it, for mum. Be brave.
So when she puts the Sorting Hat on her head she makes a simple wish: send me where they will understand. Send me where they know.
The Sorting Hat gravely commiserates and tells her Ravenclaw would be the best place for her.
She wonders, for the first few months, if the Hat got it all wrong, if the Hat wasn’t just as bad as the rest of them - sticking her with kids just like her, the ones who stick their noses in books all the time, fond of learning, fond of knowing. Overachieving minorities, she’ll call them, self-deprecatingly, in years to come.
But then at Christmas, when she goes home, she realizes that in all these months she’s never once heard it. Do you speak Indian? Do you speak Hindu?
Not once has she heard them say that word, in a voice dripping with contempt and hatred. Paki.(But I’m not from Pakistan!)
And she finds she does not miss hearing these things.
People look at her and Parvati and wonder how they could have landed up in two very different houses. They are not so very different, to the distant observer at least. They giggle over boys, they play dress up every now and then, sigh happily over elaborate robes in Witch Weekly. Not different at all.
Padma only shakes her head and smiles at people when they ask her how she and Parvati came to be sorted so differently. It’s in how we solve problems, she says and leaves it at that. They don’t need to know, after all.
If they wanted to know, they could simply observe and learn.
(For notyourexrotic who wanted to hear more about the Patil twins and why they were sorted into two different houses.)
i just really don’t want to end up in a relationship with someone who doesn’t share any of my interests with someone who doesn’t seem excited to be around me
Roots and lies, roots and lies, our family tree is old
From there we climb the golden hill, calmly will eternity
I held your heart, a giant wand; all tell of sorrow
And history begins to be blue and brown eyes
do you ever just think of fullmetal alchemist and then burst into tears because i sure do