My Kawaii Life As A Blogger


I’ve been itching to share this for a while now. My last project was Cinderella, and since there’s already one version of Cinderella for Far Faria, I decided to do a Filipino version version just to mix it up. 

You can download the app to read it here! 


Dakarai Molokomme, a 15-year-old starving child from a small village in Zimbabwe, has just told , one of the most famous pop stars in the world, to  and f*** , the local media are reporting exclusively.

“Yes, it’s true, I told Madonna to go f*** herself. Do you want to know why?” Dakarai asked. “It’s the same thing every time with these snobby rich Americans. Every once in a while they come to show us their support for the so-called eradication of poverty by adopting a child from a starving family, but they actually do more harm than good. Transracial international adoptions are part of the white savior industrial complex,” Dakarai explained.

In further discussions with journalists from the media, the  stated that “none of the children here actually want to be taken away from their family and friends so they can be displayed as some kind of trophy in the homes of self-righteous singers or actors who want to score some points with the media and Oprah.”

“If they really want to help us, they should get Big Pharma to ship us some anti-retroviral drugs for the AIDS epidemic, or build schools and hospitals. If they don’t want to do that, then they can all go f** themselves!” the child told reporters.

The 15-year-old also stated that he would say the same thing to any one of those American or European “faux humanitarian posers”, except for Bono, whom he said he would also kick in the groin.

“Bono’s efforts to save the African savage from itself prove that the colonial imperative is alive and well,” Dakarai said as he walked with other village children collecting sticks to build a tree fort.


baby: t... th... th...
mother: thanks? are you trying to say thanks?
baby: that day humanity received a grim reminder
1: What is your name and does it mean anything?
2: How long have you known your best friend?
3: What position do you normally sleep in?
4: Were you a part of any “clique” in high school?
5: Who was your favorite teacher in high school and why?
6: Do you wish to travel a lot?
7: Did you participate in any sports while in school?
8: Show a sample of your handwriting:
9: Have you ever given blood?
10: Do you like the way that you grew up?
11: Do you like your siblings? Why or why not?
12: How did you meet your best friend and why did you become friends?
13: Name one movie that made you cry.
14: Do you prefer to read poetry, write poetry, or neither?
15: Things about someone that you find attractive?
16: What song are you currently listening to?
17: Have you ever broken a bone? If so, how?
18: A random memory from you childhood:
19: Where did you grow up?
20: What was the last thing you watched on tv?
21: Do you think you’d make a good parent?
22: Would you like to meet any of your Tumblr friends in person?
22: What was the last dream you remember having?
23: When is your birthday?
24: How many pillows do you sleep with?
25: Do you wear glasses? If so, how long have you been wearing glasses?
26: What color is your hair?
27: Name 5 facts about your appearance:
28: What is your favorite soda?
29: What is a strange talent that you have?
30: How’s the weather right now?
31: Why did one of your friendships end?
32: Who do you miss right now?
33: Why did your last relationship end?
34: Are you still figuring out who you are?
35: Have you ever been admitted to a hospital? Why?
36: What is your favorite restaurant?
37: What is word that you always seem to spell wrong?
38: Would ever adopt kids?
39: What is your favorite kind of pizza?
40: What was your first thought when you woke up this morning?
41: When was the last time you got really really happy and why?
42: What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?
43: How do you start a conversation?
44: What’s a band you’ve been obsessed with lately?
45: Do you come from a family “of money?”
46: Do you have a bucket list?
47: What is your favorite series of books?
48: When was the last time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt?
49: Where do you go when you’re sad?
50: 5 random facts about yourself:

do white people have, like, a racist guide they all follow?

all of them sound the same


ymir is even more of a virgin than jean and its way worse because she talks herself UP as a sex person like yeah ive touched a lot of girls on their penis’s and vagianas *tries to spit in a cool tough rugged way and dribbles drool down her chin* and when shes…



Straight guy: "Dude, i have a dope idea for a photo"



You're really just looking for something else to complain about bc you probably ran out of shit to bitch about from your amazing life :((((((( poor you, people appreciate your culture :((;;;


Okay. Okay, sure, let’s talk about my amazing life.

Yeah, I came to the states at the age of 6. I was immediately enrolled into elementary school. Even though I had completed first grade and was set to start second, they told me I had to take first grade over again because they didn’t know if my education was up to/matched with American standards. Do you know what being educated overseas is like, especially in Asia? (Let me guess—you probably don’t.) I was bilingual by the time I was 4/5. We learn twice the amount Americans do. That was the first time I was told that my upbringing, my culture, was not important.

I started going to grade school and right off the bat, the first things the kids noticed about me, of course, was my thick Indian accent. Teachers scolded the children who made fun of me, but they never once tried to assure me that the way I spoke was okay. I was corrected, coached, and taught to speak ‘American’ so well that by the time I turned 10, no one believed I had moved here from India. And that was considered good. I learned that the way I spoke was wrong, and to be respected and accepted by my peers, I had to erase a huge link to my cultural background.

That wasn’t it, though. My mom made some of my clothes, because she was great at sewing, and it did save us a lot of money, but unfortunately, India was a few years behind on fashion and a lot of Indian clothing for children is fairly unisex/gender-neutral, so people made fun of me for the way I dressed—in plain, gender-neutral clothing—because I didn’t ‘look like a girl’. 

I had oil put in my hair—it’s a great treatment for all hair, it really nourishes the scalp. But girls called my hair oily, greasy, smelly. Honestly, it was probably healthier than all their hair combined. And today? These girls are climbing over each other to find organic coconut oil to use on their weak, brittle, dead hair to try and make it look like mine.

My mom cooked a lot in our apartment, and sure, you guys are great with eating Indian food when you go out to eat, but do you know how much work it takes? Our whole apartment would fill up with the mouth-watering smells of spices and dishes my mom made but if I showed up to school with the smell on my clothes, kids declared that I was smelly. I smelled like food, the same food, mind you, that these kids would grow up to love to eat every time they went out to eat at their local Indian restaurant, but they saw it as disgusting, because in their households, with their bland white bread and dry-ass meatloaf, they honestly had no idea what it took to flavor a meal. 

Worse than that, I brought some Indian food to lunch, and all the girls at my table made a face. They called it weird and gross, and actually made me pine and desire for their boring two-ingredient sandwiches. I had to tell my mom to stop packing me food that looked and smelled Indian for school, and though I didn’t really notice it at the time, today I can clearly remember how heartbroken she was upon hearing that from me. She struggled to teach herself American cuisine so that I would not feel uncomfortable at school. She did that. For me. I’m tearing up right now typing this, because she knew how desperate I was to make friends, and she taught herself all this for me. 

Growing up was not easy for me. I had to fight through a lot to be comfortable with myself, my identity, my culture, and my upbringing. Even today it’s not easy. Do you know the pressure on Indian kids to succeed, especially academically? One time I forgot to do a sheet of homework in 5th grade and rather than taking the late slip to my mom to have her sign it—because I knew I’d be in trouble—I forged her signature to get out of it. At only 10 years old. That’s how scared I was of messing up in school. That’s the kind of pressure there is on us. 

But at the same time, you want us to be happy with you people, to smile at you people, the same people who, when we were growing up, bullied us without mercy, made fun of how we were raised, made us embarrassed for you to come over and catch a whiff of our fragrant kitchens, made us change our lunches, our hairstyles, our clothes, just to appease you. So fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid ‘appreciation’ of my culture. You only choose to appreciate it now that you can see the value of it, but if you were not able to appreciate it years ago, when I was just a 7-year-old immigrant girl crying alone on the blacktop because no one would be friends with me, then you sure as hell do not have the fucking right to appreciate it now, let alone come to me and mock me for having no troubles in my life, especially since people like you were the cause of all my troubles growing up.