My Colorblind Ass Genuinely Cannot See Much Of A Difference

When I was young, I never really understood my parents insistence to only use olive oil imported from Palestine. It took a long time and a great distance in a process that was neither cheap nor convenient. The oil came in old beat-up containers that did not look appealing to me at all. In my head, if they wanted to support distant family back home, they could just send them money and save us and them a big hassle. We could just use the nice looking olive oil containers from the nearby store. Yet, this was never an option in our household. The only olive oil we used at home was from Palestine.

‎As I grew up and started a student part-time job, I worked with olive oil a little. I knew all about olive oil imported from Spain, Italy, and other countries. I knew which ones were better and more expensive. I also learned to tell, based on the pungent taste, which ones were extra virgin. I was tempted to use my employee discount to bring home one of the fancy bottles and use at our kitchen. I could not get myself to do it, and I did not exactly know why. I felt like it would be disrespectful to my parents even if it didn’t make sense to me. It did not feel right. It was not an option.

‎After living in Palestine for a year during the olive picking season, something changed. The olive picking season in Palestine is holy.

‎Palestinians relate to the weather based on how it would benefit or harm the olives. There is well-known unspoken rule about treating olive trees with respect. There is a day off from work just to pick olives. On public transportation, it is not unusual to hear someone on the phone telling their friend to stop by for their share of this year’s olive oil stored in what used to be a Coca-Cola or a liquor bottle. A driver will stop in the middle of the way to give his brother- in- law a jar of olives that are so close to one another that they start to crush showing their insides.

‎In Nablus, the owner of the Nabulsi soap factory takes pride in how picky he is about getting his olive oil. He insists on filling a cup to let me smell how authentic it is and smirks as he sees my diasporic facial expressions transform in appreciation of its strong smell running through all of my brain cells.

‎I started noticing how olive oil is an essential part of so many dishes. “Palestinians drink more olive oil than water” I would jokingly say and they would laugh in agreement. Olive oil is truly an everyday ritual.

‎They fantasize about its color when it’s fresh and remind me that it starts to change as it reacts with oxygen over time. They dip their bread into olive oil, just like that and without any additions, and enjoy it more than the sweetest of all foods. I can guarantee that every lunch invitation (عزومة) I received during the olive-picking season was a chance for my hosts to share their olive oil using Msakhan (a traditional Palestinian dish).

‎I now have a deeper understanding of the psychology behind the burning of olive trees by Israeli soldiers and why farmers moan at the scene as if they lost a loved one.

‎Wherever you are, if it’s accessible to you, make sure your olive oil is Palestinian. Your ancestors would want that.

- Dima Seelawi

a more glorious death there is not

physics might be the death of me

Every time I info-dump about Brandon Sanderson I don’t think of it as ranting and more as introducing these poor people to our true Lord and Savior

Your daily reminder

For three of the most confusing seconds of my life, I fully believed that was someone posing to show off their ass and upper hamstring tattoo.

man i rewlly want one of those tattoos that look like. fucking robot parts. you know what i mean

🌟 A Plea from Gaza: Rola’s Story 🌟

Hello, my name is Rola, and I am a mother of two children living in the Gaza Strip. Our lives were once filled with love, laughter, and dreams for the future. But everything changed on October 7th, when the war shattered not only our home but our entire world.

That morning, my family and I were enjoying coffee together on the balcony. Out of nowhere, an explosion erupted, shaking our home violently. My husband and son ran for cover, falling over each other in panic, while I stood frozen, still holding my cup, unable to process the chaos around me. When I looked out the window, I saw that our neighbor’s house, once filled with life, had been reduced to rubble. Ambulances rushed to the scene as people scrambled to rescue the injured and pull bodies from the debris.

The bombings didn’t stop. At night, the rain poured heavily, and the cold seeped into our bones. I stayed awake, covering my children to keep them warm and praying for their safety. But safety is an illusion here. Another explosion shattered the night, and our neighbors’ home was destroyed. Their children, who had been sleeping peacefully under a blanket, were found lifeless, their cover soaked in blood.

I looked at my children with tears in my eyes and thought, How can I protect you? We had to flee our home with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We left behind my children’s toys, their clothes, and their beautiful bedroom. Everything we had worked so hard to build is gone.

Our Current Reality Now, we are displaced and living in a nightmare. Food is scarce, and prices are unimaginably high—$10 for a kilo of sugar! The fear of death hangs over us constantly. My children deserve a life of joy and hope, not one defined by fear and loss. Why can’t we live like everyone else—go to work, visit family, and watch our children play in safety? Why do our children have to grow up surrounded by death and destruction?

How You Can Help I am pleading for your kindness to help us rebuild our lives. We need your support to: 💔 Rebuild our home, so my children can feel safe again. 🌍 Evacuate from Gaza, seeking a future where my family can live with dignity. 🩺 Provide urgent medical care for my children, who need protection from this nightmare.

Even the smallest donation can make a difference. If you can’t donate, please share my story. Every share brings us closer to hope.

What Your Support Means Your kindness is not just about helping us survive; it’s about giving us a chance to dream again. To rebuild what we’ve lost and to ensure my children have a future filled with possibilities, not fear.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Your support means the world to us. Let’s work together to rebuild hope, one step at a time.

🌸 Please share our story and consider donating today. 🌸

gofundme.com

Donate to From Despair to Hope: Help us to rebuild our life., organized by Fatima Rajwani

Hi I am Fatima and live in London UK. I have known Rola now for appr… Fatima Rajwani needs your support for From Despair to Hope: Help us to

Together, we can create a better tomorrow. 🌍❤️

Considering the gap between stormlight eras 1 & 2 is something like 10-15 years I’m pretty sure almost everyone is still gonna be alive so that drink’s still pretty likely.

There are two major things that are ripping me up about Kaladin leaving to become a herald.

And I don’t mean how it was predicable.

The first is the general lack of knowledge of what happened to him. Szeth doesn’t even know. His parents will never know how they lost their son again. Orodin will never know why his big brother he just met disappeared. What’s left of bridge 4 will think their Captain finally was beaten. No one knows he’s not actually dead. His body died and was all that was left behind as a clue. It looks like he *failed* almost. Kaladin has had a way of inspiring people to believe in the impossible since he was in his mid to late teens. And now when everything in their world has fallen, this almost divine figure has a well. He was such a symbol to hope to so many people only for him to seemingly die without anyone even awake to witness.

This is less sad to his character and more so for the population of human free from Retribution

Second, and worst of all in my opinion, is the people he left beind.

In this I’m not actually talking about Bridge 4 or his family who he did get closure with in some way. Specifically I’m thinking of Szeth, Adolin, and Shallan. He was what? Szeth’s first actual friend? For like 8 days? And Szeth buried his corpse. Adolin and Shallan refused to say goodbye. They haven’t out grown him in the same way others had. They saw him as he was, vulnerable, when others didn’t.

I’m not saying that it’s impossible for them to have that drink together, but unless Kal figures out how to do freaky shit in the cognitive realm or someone yanks the heralds back to roshar before their ready, it seems really unlikely. Ishar said that time passes significantly faster on roshar than where they are. Kaladin said the heralds have time to heal. He just…. Doesn’t seem to be planning on coming back in time for Adolin or Shallan to still be alive. He won’t get to be the friend to Adolin that Adolin was to him. He won’t get to joke and commiserate with Shallan with no weird feelings between them. He doesn’t get to be proud of them for what they’ve done while they were separated. And they know nothing but that this time. This one final time. He didn’t come back.

That hurts me.

That isn’t to say however that I think it was out of character or easy for Kaladin to leave. One crucial thing about his character that has always been true is this: Kaladin cannot, and will not walk away from someone in front of him that needs help. That moment and that need takes president over all else. He just has decided he’s going to deal with the consequences of his choice. No matter how steep. Being there for the people that had literally no one else: szeth, the heralds, Syl and every single spren was worth the loss. He chose it and he’s going to see it through.

On a side note I can totally see why people thought the therapy talk was a little hit over the head and clunky. I would have like to see him fumble his words more. Which maybe says something about me bc he fumbled a lot. But honestly I’m just impressed at him for pushing himself to talk so much. I mean can you image the grunting guy in WoR talking half as much as he does in WaT?

I think the message was prioritized more for setting him up as a herald than it was meant to feel super natural. Which is unfortunate but I don’t personally care that much. -_(o_o)_-

he’d probably prefer it too the greedy bastard

likes to charge, reblogs to cast

I desperately need a girl in my life that gets turned on by this ranting it’s getting sad atp

My boyfriend INFO DUMPED so much about the Mistborn and Stormlight Archive books/lore/world last night and I was just in awe of this man's dedication to this book series. The spren, the sentient weapons, armor, creatures from the realm, etc

Get yourself a brandon sanderson reader ladies, holy shit . Was genuinely so turned on and in love at the same time