34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.
there’s always a pattern when reading book by East Asian authors about Asians in the US/race and politics concerning Asians in the US. 80% of the book is about East Asians, like a chapter on the South East Asians n how they don’t fit in the model minority myth, then there’s like a page or something on South Asians and post 9/11 world???..maybe i need to read more books or something?
so i didn’t know coffee shops were handing out free coffee today!! im so late :(
black girl in paris, tami williams
my dad worked in Lumbini to make the birth place of Gautam Buddha flood proof (what is the proper engineering term idek), the project was funded by the Japanese bc Nepal doesn’t have money for such projects, so anyways my dad was telling me that across the border in India there is like a replica of the birth site and Indians are like ripping off tourists, marketing the place as the real Lumbini which is so odd and really offensive. The whole conversation on where Buddha was born n his identity is a really sensitive subject to a lot of Nepalis, I mean I used to not really understand it until like coming across little sentences here and there in books about where he was born, it was always in India and there was no mention of modern day Nepal. I’ve actually met Chinese ppl who practice Mahayana Buddhism who don’t know what country Lumbini is in now (how the fuck u don’t know where Nepal is it’s literally next to your country?!) and when I told them I was from Nepal they asked where it is and what asked me to name some famous Nepali person like i couldn’t believe it. But I also understand that back then there was no Nepal, but still it’s really fucked up.
when “”“”educated”“”” people type a whole lot of words that mean basically nothing and u feel stupid for not understanding them at first and then u reread it and realise NO they are literally saying nothing they are just typing meaningless sentences to revel in their own smugness.
The End of Summer | dir. Yasujirô Ozu (1961)
They call me a guy who can recall his past lives.
I remember the light when I was young.
Not one light, but many, in different colours.
I thought they were some kind of airborne animals.
They were transparent dots.
I would chase them and follow them into the jungle
I would follow the lights and look at them,
let them transfer images into my mind.
The adults thought I was crazy or was possessed by a ghost
But they didn’t bother…
to take me to a hospital or to a shaman.
Later I remember when I was in the jungle
and saw no lights.
I would look directly at the sun
and close my eyes.
I saw the white orb in the darkness.
Only that act could bring comfort
because I always fear
that one day
when I open my eyes
I will see nothing.
- Apichatpong Weerasethakul - excerpt from The Memory of Nabua