True love has become synonymous of perfect. And in that I am bothered. “Perfect”—the chiseled chin, the luscious hair, the altruistic mixed badass that has plenty of money to roll around in. And yes, I described Brad Pitt. Perfect? Or the sexy woman that has a child from every continent, and plenty of money to save the world. And yes, I described his partner in crime, Angelina Jolie. I mention them because I can tell you, from the world’s perspective they are what you call perfect. I have no offenses against them, but as much as I’ve tried to create this dream of a perfect Brad Pitt for myself, I’ve realized perfection is not the same as truth, and truth is not the same as honesty.

Perfection doesn’t cause a single mother to sacrifice her dignity to endure an honest day’s work as a stripper in a local nightclub to feed her children, nor does truth wave its finger of judgment in her face because when her children grow up, they will see love is greater than perfect. Perfection doesn’t teach a betrayed spouse, a victim of infidelity, the greatest lesson in life is learning the true meaning of forgiveness. The honest heart to not look back takes greater strength than grippingly vowing with whiten knuckles of never letting go. And at the end of the day the lesson of forgiveness passes on resonating that love is greater than perfect.

Knowing there’s a chance of meeting the perfect person compared to meeting someone and becoming perfect for each other—I think I’d rather wait a lifetime for the latter. Truth is the chance to be honest; having the ability to peel the layers, the masks, the insanity—being more than a bundle of neatly packed lies by shattering the walls while having everything to lose. Given the freedom to say I’m real, and in my honest confession, there you will find truth— truth of my past, truth of my insecurities, truth of my joys.

That’s not even the best part! The greatest treasure no one else will ever see, no one else will ever hold, will be yours. A bruised and broken heart, worn down but not lost. That I would be entrusted with the most fragile life affirming hope of someone…is better than perfect. Its real.

May you discover truth in the boldness of honesty and may you see the never failing depth of love. May you find this letter is not for the hopeless romantic, but courage for all who declare love is real, and greater than perfect.

(photo courtesy of cuteoverload)

Just do it.

nike.com/courage

2008 Beijing Olympics.

The best example of hope for peace left. And when I speak of peace, I don’t mean mindless agreement of “getting along.” But in a sense of never forgetting everyone has a mother, a father, a family to go home to, dreams to achieve, expectations to surpass, and a story.

(courtesy of NPR)

On Sept. 5th at 8pm(ET/PT) the major television networks NBC, ABC, and CBS have joined together to represent the power of humanity at our finest; united.

If we have the power to prevent heartache, what the hell are we waiting for.

This is where the end of cancer begins…

(for more information click on the image.)

The greatest joy of life is being able to give. Randy Pausch shared his life and has inspired millions to find a reason to share their own. Pausch recently lost his battle to cancer July 25, 2008.

(courtesy of ABC)

the dark knight.

But I do I have new music to recommend! A long list actually. And once again I say support these awesome underground artists(and even if they’re not) as you can find them on itunes, or even a myspace of their own. For those of you that’s never seen this–everything I write is inspired by the music I listen to. And this list is me sharing that intimate part of myself with you :]

it will be listed:

artist. title

Joseph Arthur. Into the Sun.
Iron and Wine. Passing Afternoon.
Regina Spektor. The Call.
Devotchka. The Winner Is.
Snow Patrol. Open Your Eyes.
The Academy Is. Slow Down.
David Vandervelde. Heaven Weeps.
We The Kings. Check Yes Juliet.

Now random facts about myself. I learned English through sesame street. no joke. I have a pet chinchilla whom I looooooooooooooooove so much. Her name is cherry.

I lost my camera so I’ve been using my mom’s DSLR nikon and pentax cameras. When I get the specific names of the models I will let you know!
Also alot of the issues or subjects I cover in my entries are inspired by my conversations with the people around me. My roommate and I somehow always got into conversations that caused us to challenge one another and in those moments where we had heated debates about love, politics, life were the moments when I learned the greatest about myself. I would never be where I am with the ideals I hold close to my heart without others around me that urged me to ask questions and figure life out for my self.

The things I might mention and the things I might say may not agree with you but oh the beauty of life in being able to be curious together, learn together. So I whole heartedly encourage you to have conversations with others, family members, close friends, complete strangers that demand you to take a stand for yourself. Not to converge others to think like you, but to allow others to see a new perspective, a new edge, a revolution. Be ready for new ideas, for conflicts, and fundamental differences, but be prepared to be shaken in your own beliefs, grow doubts and ask questions. Don’t be afraid to speak up. Because the greatest gift we as human beings were given was the search for an individual identity and unique footprint to leave on this world.

The last thing humanity needs is everyone to think they’re right. However, everything is not relative. Humanity needs to remember la vita e bella.

life is beautiful.

And, fortunately, when there aren’t any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction.

And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.

-stranger than fiction.

Its the end of the night in Nazareth. Around 9 p.m. Badi closes down what must be the latest operating barbershop in all of Israel. For his last customer, a journalist of some repute, a special drape in honor of this Collegiate Times reporter.

But Badi and his customer’s still-strong attraction to many things American is informative of  an interesting intersection between practicality and principle that defines the status of Israeli Arabs today.

For Israeli Arabs – those Arabs who remained in Israel after the 1948 war or who were offered citizenship after the 1967 clash – their life is a series of compromising situations.

To their Palestinian neighbors and family members they are viewed at least slightly askance, as if living in Israel was tantamount to collaboration with the government. To the Israeli government they are either non-factors or part of a “demographic problem” – every child they produce threatens Israel’s Jewish character. Overseas, they are often seen in a negative light by Western sympathizers with the Palestinian cause for the same reasons that Palestinians themselves are skeptical.

So what’s an Israeli Arab to do?

Most of them, however they disagree with the policies of Israel vis-à-vis Palestine, relish living in a largely functioning country.

“Do I want to be in the same country as Hamas? No thanks,” said Badi, a barber in Nazareth with whom I pressed some questions on to whom he felt loyal – the Palestinian people across the Green Line or his current national colleagues?

Badi, like many other Israeli Arab Christians I have spoken to, couched most of his allegiance in religious terms. “The Muslims,” as he calls them, “don’t have good heads.”

My personal translation of Badi’s sentiment is something like this: He likes his barbershop business, his day trips to Tiberias and his fully-stocked household bar more than he cares about political solidarity.

Yet facing pressure from all sides there are also many Israeli Arabs who feel exactly the opposite, who are annoyed by even having to spend Israeli Shekels, the national currency, rather than a hypothetical Palestinina Dinar.

It is obviously a broad generalization to cut these general groups of Israeli Arabs apart by practicality and principle. Yet when the United States enters the mix, I don’t think its entirely unfair to categorize the Israeli Arab relationship with America as defined by those two factors. There are those whose first question is, “Can you find me a job?” and others whose first words “Bush no good” have direct intellectual counterparts in every-day Arab Israeli life.

I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years, but I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tuttlebrook, and she use to tell me that God was in the rain. I passed my 11th lesson into girl’s grammar; it was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sara. It was her wrists. They were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that is was an adolescent phase people outgrew. Sara did, I didn’t.

In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand. My father wouldn’t look at me, he told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing. But I had only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free.

I’d always known what I wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I starred in my first film, “The Salt Flats”. It was the most important role of my life, not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box, and our place always smelled of roses. Those were the best years of my life. But America’s war grew worse and worse and, eventually, came to London. After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone.

I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening, while things like Norsefire and the Articles of Allegiance became powerful. I remember how different became dangerous. I still don’t understand it, why they hate us so much.

They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long till they came for me. It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years, I had roses, and apologized to no one.

I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile, but it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you… I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

- Valerie

V For Vendetta