Just a little randomness

queenofperv said: it’s the virus thing. Do not go to the link. And you are a perfect and beautiful person, so don’t let anybody tell you differently

Oh I am aware..I was just in weird mood when I replied, I guess?

i learned a thing

emedeme:

bleu-meridia:

so while i’m going to spare you the details of something that happened yesterday, i’m going to tell you what i took away from the experience (besides almost an hour straight of crying my eyes into little red swollen beads that would make a jellyfish envious).

if someone ever tells you that being different or being a little bizarre is wrong, or that you have to stop doing what makes you happy to make others happy, you’re not obligated to listen, much less obey. being “different” is not a crime. liking things that others don’t or consider a waste of time is fine. you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. if you like the color blue, you just do. by the same token, if you like writing or gaming— you just do. 

it’s alright if you write in your spare time or you dream about becoming an author. it’s ok if you compose songs that no one will ever hear because first drafts tend to be awful and nothing close to what you imagined. it’s alright to design concept art and talk about fantasy worlds and to want to share them. it’s not shameful, it’s not forbidden, and it’s not unhealthy. 

i can say this without a single doubt. my entire life, i’ve been told by people around me— excluding my family, thankfully— that my aspirations are daydreams. nothing to really consider seriously. and the events of yesterday brought those memories in sharp relief against who i am and what i believe today.

i’d often be faced with questions like “you want to be a writer? but why? wouldn’t you rather be an engineer, or a doctor? or maybe a lawyer like your grandfather? don’t you want to do something real?” 

and for the first few years, i believed these people. i believed all of them! every time i’d sit down to write a story or doodle, i’d be reminded that what i was doing was child’s play, or that i wasn’t anything extraordinary. when i didn’t show any special affinity in maths— and then consequently got a mediocre grade because of my difficulty with it— i almost had a breakdown. if i couldn’t understand numbers or manipulate them and write equations, how was i supposed to become something “real?” 

what i didn’t know then was that you, and no one else, is in charge of what is real for you. if “real” is slaving over a canvas for you, then goddamn it, it’s real, and no one else can tell you otherwise. some people like to fix cars. others like painting murals or restoring old religious icons. some others would prefer to watch titrations form and go to sleep reciting the periodic table mentally. others again prefer splicing videos together and editing clips of homemade footage.

not one of these professions is better or more valid than the other.

there is only one you in this world, and no one else can offer that exact same combination of thought and emotion that you can. no one else can write exactly like you, sing like you, draw like you, talk like you, or think like you. no one else is the exact combinations of genes and chromosomes that you are, even if there is someone around that’s similar enough. 

we need all of you. 

so if you want to write, write. if you want to study medicine and go to Stamford, reach for it. if you think your voice needs to be heard, find a good spot and grab a microphone and start talking. 

nothing that is worth keeping is easy, and the naysayers will be around forever. but what’s important is that at the end of the day, you are satisfied and happy with what you’re doing, and if that “doing” means running a ranch or opening a small restaurant or working at Starbucks, then you’re doing alright. life is too short to be spent trying to be something another person wants you to be. 

so the next time someone tells you you’re a freak, or that you’re different, or that you’re weird, or that you shouldn’t spend so much time drawing, don’t take their words to heart too much. this world needs its dreamers and romantics as much as it does its mathematicians and scholars. finding a measure of inner peace and being able to face the next day without too much fear is as important as getting that A or passing that test.

be what you want to be, and be happy. 

This. Because seriously, I’ll never forget when I was 12 and I decided I wanted to be a comic artist, and I told my godmother and I was all excited  telling her about my projects and the bitch interrupted me and went “honey don’t you rather be a secretary like your mommy?”

With all respect to the world’s secretaries. No, ma’am. I’d rather fucking not.