Greetings! The name is Time Lizzy, or Time as my friends call me. They/Them pronouns. I love to try new things, draw, sing, dance, garden, and I do some witchcraft in my free time. I'm a Hetalia role playing partner if you guys are interested.
men have set the bar is so fucking low, where i think a lot of girls get distracted by the questions of “is my boyfriend a good person? does he respect me? will he hurt me? is he interested in anything other than my appearance?” rather than “are me and my boyfriend compatible? do we have fun together? do we have interests that align? am i enthusiastic about my love for him?”
there was this guy who liked me on okcupid, and he would message me a LOT, and i never ever responded. his profile was basically, paragraphs of assurances that he’s a good person like and was all long versions of saying “i like consent, i dont like cops, i dont like racism, i don’t like toxic masculinity, i dont abuse people, i dont condone pedophilia” and i feel like all that stuff should be a given. all that stuff shouldn’t be what i’m thinking about when looking for a long term romantic partner. his profile didn’t have much about his interests, or much about anything at all. it was all about his politics and morals. all i knew about him from his profile is that he probably passes the very low bar of not being a horrible person.
“people are more than their politics” shouldn’t mean “people can be horrible racists and still be good people.” it should mean “you deserve to seek out more in friends and partners other than just the lowest bar of not being a horrible person”
And this isn’t about whether a man’s politics are genuine or not. Its about whether they have any other redeemable characteristics besides their politics. A man can have great politics that are completely genuine and still be just a boring dude whose future interests don’t align with yours.
My abuela used to say” dating/marrying a person because they’re good is like buying the car because it came with the steering wheel.
Tears fill my eyes as I read the words on my screen. The world seems to stop spinning for the slightest second as I re-read the anonymous message over and over again, gripping on to the hope that the words will magically disappear. But they didn’t. Anon had done it; they’d figured out that the only way to make me take off my hijab was to call my hair ugly. My one weakness.
A tear streams down my left cheek.
Eight years of academy hijab training…wasted. I had to prove this extremely relevant and good-looking anonymous person wrong, I cared too much about what they thought. How could I live my life knowing that there is one person out there who thinks probably my hair is ugly maybe? How could I look myself in the mirror? How could I face my family? My shoulders shook as I cried silently, and my chair squeaked ever so slightly at the vibrations; as if it, too, was crying in sorrow.
It wasn’t until that moment that the second part of the message dawned on me… how would I prove them wrong without breaking the rules? Was it really against the rules? I reach into my hijab and pull out a scroll. At the very top, in cursive jet-black inked letters, the word ‘Rules’ stares back at me. My heart is racing as my eyes frantically read the scroll.
‘Rule #1: no killing people,’ it reads. I let out a whimper. There go my evening plans.
Suddenly, my eye catches the next words. The scroll is rustling in my trembling hands as I turn my face away, tears spraying out of my eyes like the spit of a white person as they try to justify racism. The cursive words felt more like a curse of words, vivid and refusing to disappear as if I were still staring at them even through my closed eyes.
Rule #2: don’t show ur hair girl it’s ugly lmaooooo
