1. Write once a week
2. Use my phone less
3. Eat better
4. Record more videos (there is nothing more magical than hearing the voices of people whom you love)
5. Be more careful with my heart (just because love lives inside me doesn't mean people who have done nothing to deserve it should hold it in their hands)
6. Don't withhold any ounce of kindness within me
7. Make people a priority — talk to everybody more

     In light of my horrendous October, I have come to realize just how much I appreciate women everywhere. So, this is a shoutout to girl who birthed me, the girls who raised me, and every girl in between.
     To my mother who birthed me, without knowing who I was or who I was to become. Who loves me when she knows nothing about me, and loves me still when she knows everything. Who doesn’t know everything, but never pretends to either. Who didn’t do everything right, but does everything with love. Whose heart I have stupidly shattered over and over again, but does not let that shrewd her openness. To my mother who I have too often not treated the way she deserved, I love you and the love you have for me from the pits of myself, and I have since before I was me and before I even knew there was a me to be.
     To the girls who made me: whether it be through kindness or intellect, you live in me. From the girls who asked me where I got my jeans from to the girls who wrapped and arm around me and held me to their chests, heaving, breasts buoys as we rocked in saltwater tears.
     To the girls in Amsterdam, who ignited a spark in me that I’d been blowing out since kindergarten; the fire flared in the city and then burnt out again once I left, a strange explosion that charred me inside and out, but it again flickers steadily inside my chest. I don’t know if I will ever see you again, but you are in me. You reached inside me and turned me inside out, wet clay twisting gently in your soft hands.
     To my best friend, who taught me what it means to have a real friend, and to be one as well. Who taught me how to think and how to breathe. Who listens to me when I call her, answers the phone to my sobbing. Who works harder than almost anyone I know, and yet stays humble. Who understands how I work, how my family works, and slots herself in seamlessly. I’m sorry for everyone who doesn’t know you, who can’t let your love into their lives.
     To the girls who chatted with me at Sunday School, normal and easy in a way that is foreign to foreigners. You were better than me, and mostly still are, but never let me feel it. When faithlessness crept into my heart, you never let me feel it; I love God because He is God, but I love you because you helped me find God on my own terms.
     To my cousin, who felt the same anguishes I did, but came out funnier and kinder. You’re a light in my life certainly, but a light to others as well. Thanks for showing me how to paint my face in makeup and not bat a beautifully curled eyelash no matter what anyone else says.
     To the girls who are a little bit older than me, and certainly wiser, too. I am forever grateful that you took me under your wing and never grew annoyed with my naïveté masked in confidence. The knowledge you imparted on me is not wasted, I promise. Thanks for reminding me boys ain’t s***. You were right. You are the embodiment of not dumbing yourself down, even when it seems inconsequential, for the approval of any man.
      To the girls who have taught me anything, you have taught me everything. I am ridiculously lucky to be alive at the same time as so many wonderful women, and thankful for the work women of the past have done for us, and I am achingly hopeful for the women who are still to be birthed, to be brought into the world without the plastic encasings of shame and injustice. Be a friend; it costs nothing to support your local girl gangs.

• take a shower
• wash your face
• talk to someone (if there's no one in your life you feel like you can talk to try a help hotline — you can find a list of them here)
• take a nap
• eat something (anything!)
• change your clothes
• put on lotion 
• listen to happy music
• drink a bottle (maybe not all at once) of water
• listen to an advice podcast (even if it's not talking about your specific issue I've found that listening to people talk through problems weirdly cathartic — I really like Dear Sugar Radio)
• say a prayer (or make a wish)
• brush your teeth
• light a candle/put on perfume/spray some air freshener (let yourself smell something pleasant)
• watch snl (or something else that will make you laugh)
• drink tea
• make/bake something
• clean your room/just tidy your general space

    Halloween is rapidly approaching, which means people are growing desperate for costume ideas. You could be A. a wizard, or B. a clown, or maybe C. a geisha. Which of these is not like the other? I’ll give you a hint; one of them is a culture, not a costume. Ding-ding-ding! That’s right, it’s a geisha. Unless you're Japanese, you shouldn't be dressing as a geisha, especially if you don't understand the history of geishas. Halloween is notorious for blackface, which is the practice of painting one's face in dark makeup to appear black, eerily similar to Jim Crow. If you're wondering what the problem is with wanting to put on "bronzier" makeup, ask yourself if black people have the option to paint their faces white to better suit their needs, to avoid being shot by police.
    Halloween does not give you a free pass to adopt the persona of another culture, no matter how cute you think it is. Unless you truly believe that the spirits of your loved ones come back to visit you every year in the early days of November, you don't have any reason to be painting your face for el Día de los Muertos. This is the culture and religion of people who are longing to celebrate with the souls of their loved ones, not an excuse for you to put on some "fun" makeup and get wasted.
     So what's the difference between white people taking from other cultures and immigrants wearing jeans? The difference is that immigrants have no choice but to assimilate. If we were to walk around in abayas or kimonos rather than jeans and a t-shirt, the ostracism would be relentless. Immigrants and people of color are forced to give up their cultures to, at best, be accepted in American society, and in the most dire circumstances, for their personal safety. Cultural appropriation comes from a place of privilege, white people don't have to worry about systematic oppression.
    The problem does not actually come from white people adopting aspects of other cultures; it comes from ethnic erasure. It's the fact that Kylie Jenner is praised for her acrylic nails, corn rows and big lips while black women have been the criticized for the same traits for decades. These trends are suddenly no longer "ghetto" or scary; all of a sudden, they’re cool and edgy because they're no longer on colored skin.
     It is the gentrification of entire communities; you want to eat burritos and tacos but you don't want to enter Mexican restaurants owned by actual Mexicans. You don't want to be in the "sketchy" part of town; otherwise known as a neighborhood with a limited Caucasian population. It's eating Chipotle on Friday night while you demand that the people who introduced you to guacamole be deported.
     Cultural appropriation undermines the large scale violence people from these cultures face. It fails to acknowledge that geishas have been viewed as sexual objects for centuries, and treated like it too. It forgets that Native Americans were scalped, with their "red skins" being offered as proof. It neglects that black women have been ridiculed for their natural hair since the beginning of America. Cultural appropriation is the practice of taking from other people's cultures without caring about what happens to them. It's wearing Timbs and listening to rap music without acknowledging that black lives matter. It's dressing up as a Native American while shutting your eyes against the history of genocide. You wanna dress like, walk like, talk like, dance like us, but you don't want to hear our stories or our struggles or our fears.
      And it's not just people of color who face the brunt of cultural appropriation, but the LGBT community, too. Almost any slang word you can think of comes from black drag culture, whether it's shade or hunty, it's used often in everyday conversation. What we fail to recognize is the shame that has long been associated with not only drag culture, but gay culture as a whole. Cultural appropriation is wanting to beat your face, but barring people from using the restroom or getting married.
       Cultural appropriation is not always major things either, like walking a fashion show in "Native American" lingerie, there are small acts of cultural appropriation every day. When I was younger, I would put on henna before Eid, and then avoid raising my hand until the color had faded, dreading being asked "what's that on your hand????" But all of a sudden, because Vanessa Hudgens does it, henna "tattoos" are cool, they're indie, they're Coachella. I can remember being made fun of for having thick eyebrows, but now that white women fill in their eyebrows, they're suddenly all the rage. And while people may claim that thick eyebrows have always been in, that’s easily debunked if you were to back to any 2000s movie and observe their over-plucked sperm-like eyebrows and thin waists. Being curvy, a centuries-old trait associated with women of color was frowned upon until recently; but now, everyone suddenly wants butt implants to get thicc. Cultural appropriation is taking characteristics of the oppressed and acting as if you invented them while they stay in the trenches you dug.
         So, not only on Halloween, but every day ask yourself if you're participating in cultural appreciation or appropriation.

When she tells you no, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want your hand in hers,
She doesn't want your mouth pressed to her ear,
She doesn't want to hear you pant or moan her name,
In fact,  she'd rather plug her ears with thick, wet cement

When she tells you she didn't like what was happening, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want a lover like this,
She doesn't have a lover like this,
This is not love; this is bruises on wrists, and thighs, and places no one can see,
He is not cute, he is not funny, and he did not — does not have permission to run his big, dirty hands along her rib cage,
So close to heart that it beats faster, like a metal detector, going off the chain over a rusty nail

When she tells you she tried to stop it, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
Sure, maybe her mouth was zipped, but her pants were supposed to be, too,
She clenches her teeth as she hear the slide of the zipper, tooth by tooth,
She couldn't get the words out from her stomach to her chest to her throat to her mouth and out into his face, but her hands pushing his away should've been enough

When she tells you it happened in class, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She sits right in front of the blind teacher's desk,
She's surrounded by people who knew, who should've said "this was no accident,
We saw it,
Over and over again
We couldn't say anything then,
But we're saying it now"

When she tells you it was a boy on the football team, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
They are trained to tackle, to take what they want,
To be paraded and praised for leisurely violence,
To press up against unsuspecting giants — sophomore girls are easy

When she tells you she doesn't want attention — not his, not theirs, not even yours — you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
He placed the knife there in the first place,
But each time she opens her mouth, to call someone to finally yank it out, she's cut off by oh my gosh he's so cute! You're so lucky he's into you!
Every sidelong glance drives the knife in deeper, twisting and swirling the weapon further and further in

When she tells you it's taken months to finally, finally edge that blade out, you don't believe her,
When she tells you that no matter how hard she tries, every time she closes her eyes, she can still see it, still feel it, you don't believe her,
When she tells you she always wanted to find her place in the world — that she just didn’t want it to be beneath his crushing weight, you don’t believe her,
When she tells you she wished it hadn't happened, that it didn't feel like a compliment, you don't believe her,
When she tells you it happened to other girls, too, you don't believe her, but

When I tell you it happened to me,

please,

please

believe me

This wasn't intentionally a lyrics edition, but I've been listening to seem really great music recently and most of my notes have been lyrics as of late. You can see part two here. 

"Girl give love to your body/It's only you that can stop it... But you'll never be alone/I'll be with you from dusk till dawn...Baby, I'm right here/I'll hold you when things go wrong" -Zayn & Sia (Dusk till Dawn)

"Just let me know, I'll be at the door, at the door/Hoping you'll come around/Just let me know, I'll be on the floor, on the floor" -Harry Styles (Meet Me in the Hallway)

"I see your frown/And it's like looking down the barrel of a gun" -Arctic Monkeys (Mardy Bum)

"If you're under him you ain't getting over him" -Dua Lipa (New Rules)

"Pray for Paris/pray for the parents" -Kanye West (Ultralight Beam)

• don't sign up for classes you already know you'll hate

• eat meals on time

• take at least one fun, easy class

• don't force yourself to hang out with people/go to events that make you uncomfortable

• have at least one fun/chill outing each week

• take your medication!

• make sure you get some sleep

• you are not your grades

• sit with people who are sitting alone

• volunteer

• forgive people, even if (especially if) it's difficult 

• say good morning

• if your friend has a play/game/art exhibition, go support them!

• share food

• compliment people

• ask questions