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A stunning May morning... the diffused grey light, the air that smells of hope and tastes of cool herbal tea, the small drops of rain sliding down the windowpane and the distant noise of an awakening city…

Never really have been able to say no to a Dior lip product. but How could I, when the formula is like a cloud and the packacing is so dreamy?

פילוסופיה שלי:
לפעמים אנחנו מסתלקים על הדברים ורואים אותם כקטנים. ולאחר זמן מה, אנחנו נזכרים בהם וזה עושה אותנו שמחים. ואז זה משנה את המצר רוח שלנו וזה משפיע מאוד חזק אל הסביבה שלנו וכשאנחנו משדרים חיוביות,- זה גם חוזר אלינו אבל בהרבה הרבה יותר. וכל זה מדבר קטן שיש לו משקל משמעותי בחיי היום יומיים שלנו. ככה גם עם כל דבר.. -בית גדול- בנוי מאבנים קטנים...!

Really grateful for the opportunity to do eka pada rajakapotasana each and every morning (before the sleep) since I have time for that. Relieves the body of stress and anxiety, releases negative feelings and undesirable energy stored in your system.

You raise my spirits up, every single day. And I’m still so lucky to raise you up in my hands same way as the day you were born

The best thing about Sunday is Saturday night. The still, warm air saturated with the smell of lilacs, teatime out on the veranda, the birdsong and buzzing of insects... I would even go so far as to say that no time of day out in the country can compare with the evening. I love to sit outside in these latter hours of the day with a cup of herbal tea, re-reading beloved works that I have read many a time before.

Daddy duty Don’t they all look so much like him? And V is like his exact replica except smaller

If I were Adriene, Owl would be my Benji. Meanwhile, Setu Bandkha Sarvangasana calms the brain and central nervous system, reduces fatigue, anxiety and insomnia.

*Unpopular Opinion Ahead* So… hear me out! The line between personal preference and body shaming becomes kinda nuanced when it comes to males. Don’t get me wrong, I am completely aware that women have their own social struggles, but I wouldn’t be a true feminist if I wasn’t also interested in guys’ struggles.
And if I have to be honest… it seems to me like, when it comes to guys, there is a layer of double standard. Is way easier to be cruel, to ignore, aggressively reject, make fun and laugh at a dude, since they receive the judgement of both females and other males.
My boyfriend gave me a very valid example: imagine you are a shy girl, in this world there are plenty of guys that like shy girls, so you’ll still get the social attention, but if you are a shy boy… good luck! That apparently means something, you can’t just BE in a way, no. Is not just a characteristic of your personality anymore, no, you are suddenly a “pussy”, you are weak and worthless. You see girls going for the douchebags of the world, you see them appreciating a cold attitude, you see them chasing the dude that treat her like shit and you are left to wonder what is wrong with… you? There is NOTHING wrong with you. Similarly, you’ll be heavily judged if you are not
🪞 Tall, charismatic, interesting, rich, funny, and, exactly like in the case of women, the list is endless

There are HUNDREDS of sites telling you that “women are attracted to your survival traits”, that you should never show your vulnerabilities, you should never be emotional, and a bunch of other Neanderthalian ideologies.

I believe that men, exactly like women, have to break many stereotypical ideas that are making them become toxic, or insecure, anxious and so on. For males, there is also the pressure of “not communicating”, if you are confronting yourself with a rough patch the people around you will tell you to “man up”… but, excuse me, wtf is that even supposed to fcking mean?

When you look at it this way, makes sene that male suicide rates are way higher than women’s and is the biggest killer of men under 45.

Tag that friend who’s attitude’s worth a million bucks, but is broke as

I’mma proceed and tag myself, lol

Remember: if you are confused in regard to what someone feels for you, it means you should walk away.

If you like someone you’ll want stability, consistency, you’ll want intimacy, you’ll want to feel like a priority and very much part of the other’s life. However, before you can seek for those in a relationship you have to give it to yourself first, meaning:

Be consistent with your boundaries, communicate them, own them, and respect them first. If you will continuously break your own boundaries, nobody will respect them or take them seriously.
Be honest with your crush/partner. Use phrases like “When you do ____ I feel ___, can we talk about this?” or “I’m feeling a bit insecure right now, can you reassure me of _____?”
Don’t wait for their move, make your own! Let’s say you’re texting with them and they say they might come to your place later. Don’t just be complacent and hope he/she’ll actually come. Take initiative and communicate the fact that you are available, yes, but not continuously, therefore you could say something like “I will be available until 11:00, after that I won’t really answer my phone.” This will put the ball in their court, and their actions (or lack thereof), will tell you what you need to know.

In the end, we all know that where there’s a will there’s a way, but sometimes we get lost in our desires and interpret them as needs. This will cause you to inevitably put your partner/crush on a pedestal of perfection, while you’re putting yourself in the mud, waiting for some sign of affection or attention to give you life and purpose again.

Understand this is not love, but rather attachment.
Chase neither, attract love by loving yourself deeply.‍

Because we fear vulnerability, we turned it from strength to weakness.

Vulnerability is the state of being open to injury, or appearing as you are and there are many myths around this concept.

More than ever we are seeing loneliness, depression, broken relationships and more division. People are ghosting each other, almost unable to liaise with other humans and, if you ask me, all is because we aren’t leveraging vulnerability as a weapon.

We want to seem perfect, healthy, successful and so on in the eyes of the world, we don’t want to put ourselves in an uncomfortable position, or a position in which we have to be brave, so we are never honest with people (or with ourselves).

We can see this phenomenon in social media: influencers portray a fabulous life that is not real, but have real life issues that are not talking about because we are ashamed to be less than perfect. So we isolate, thinking that we are wrong, thinking that we are weird.

The reality is that we all have the same struggles (more or less). But if I didn’t convince you yet, here are some benefits of vulnerability:
🪶 makes you more honest with yourself - think of it this way: if you are on a plane that is crashing, you need first to put your oxygen mask on, and only after helping the others. To truly have intimacy, you first need to have that with yourself.
🪶 boost of self-worth - vulnerability teaches you to be honest, at first, because after it will push you to stand up for yourself, because you are being honest about what you want and not ashamed anymore.
🪶 feeling less dependent on outside opinions - so you are honest with yourself now, and brave, of course you’ll be less keen to believe other people’s projections of us.

And those are just the perks in relation to you! Now go and discover what vulnerability looks like in a relationship as well

Happens lots of times to start something (dancing, exercising, singing, therapy, etc) and to end up completely demotivated because of the high expectations we put on ourselves, and this brings unnecessary frustrations and puts lots of pressure on our shoulders.

Somehow we think that if we start something we’ll also be good at it from the very beginning, or that it will be easy, but the truth is that, as cliche as it sounds, Rome wasn’t built in one day: it was built brick by brick, which translates to the modern “one step at a time”.

Few tips:

🧱 start small - no action is small enough. If you want to get in shape, you can’t go and run for 4 hours right away, you might have to start with 5 minutes and gradually increase. Which takes me to the next point…
🧱 … celebrate all the victories, regardless if big or small - make gratitude a habit, it’s a great one!
🧱 learn to comfort yourself - know that you’ll go through hard times and that’s ok, always treat yourself with kindness
🧱 know when you need rest - you can’t properly function when exhausted, so make your well-being a priority.

Now go build your own Rome

We are getting more and more used to see heavy make up and deceptive filters that make us feel like our skin is wrong, like we have to always have a face full of make-up to feel pretty. There was a time when I, personally, started to link having “a perfect face” to having success, thinking you can’t have one without the other, but I learned in time to respect my skin. If you’re interested here are a few points that helped me accept myself:

your skin, like yourself, can’t always look perfect by society’s standards and that’s because your skin has its own cycle. Goes through its own journey and sometimes is more tired than others. Don’t panic when your face breaks, instead, treat it as if your best friend is tired: with love, rest and care.
remember that our cells change every month (approx.) and that our skin is like a plant: if you talk to it in a nice way it will flourish, if you spend your time criticizing it it will slowly die. Have patience, your skin is really doing its best while going through crazy changes!
you HAVE TO be your biggest fan, even when you don’t feel particularly worthy, even with a face full of acne. You are not your body, your size, your skin… you are more than those, and is up to you to find the uniqueness of your existence through unconditional self love.

Smell the sea and feel the sky. let your soul and spirit fly

The craic was ninety last night at Mary O’s as a wave of big scone hype crested right in the middle of Irish Music Night. Over $1,000,000 worth of soda bread scones were sold. But you’d never know from watching Mary. There was ne’er a tremble in her hand as she dished out shepherd pies and Guinness pints. Though to be honest—her composure mainly stemmed from her refusal to look at the number. We found a quiet table at the end of the night, and I gave her a full accounting. There were 25,000 orders, which meant 150,000 scones. She allowed herself a brief, joyful cry. Then she asked: ‘I can do this, right?’ I told her: ‘Of course.’ Because every one of those orders came from people who want the best for her. And I felt confident that we’d all be patient while she figured out a new process for making scones. Mary has a great team around her. She refers to them as ‘The Regulars’ as if they’re a squad of superheroes, but they’re actually longtime customers who transform into volunteers at a moment’s notice. Clint was serving food last night. Steve and Shelly were bartending. Liz and Deb were watching the kids. Alexia from @ruffclub dropped everything to manage Mary’s online ordering. Caitlin, Rogan, TJ, Sara, Mimi, Bob. The list goes on and on. All of them made clear to me that they show up for Mary because it’s been ten years of her showing up for them. ‘This woman deserves every bit of this,’ they said. ‘She gives and gives and never asks for a thing.’ With this support group, and her own business experience, Mary has all she needs to deliver 25,000 boxes of delicious, blackberry-jam-smothered, blessing-infused scones. It’s just going to take some planning. And some time. Our goal was always to help with Mary’s burdens, not add to them. She will deliver the scones as fast as she can. And things may fall into place rather quickly. But if you absolutely need your scones in the coming days, or even weeks, feel free to request a refund. For everyone else, your scones will drop from the sky like a pleasant Irish rain. And when the box is opened, your descendants will be blessed for a minimum of ninety generations. Thanks to all of you, and may the road rise to meet you.
Imagine how magic this is... Some day you will receive a box with Scones, maybe a low day, maybe a rainy day .. And your day will became bright like a rainbow after the storm.
bsolutely no rush here for your lovely scones, dear Mary! Take your time and we’ll be pleasantly surprised when they finally arrive!
Won’t it be fun to forget about them and they show up as a surprise one day? Even if I never get them it was my pleasure to donate.

“We got shut down two days before St. Patrick’s Day. Always the biggest day for an Irish bar. My husband is a longshoreman, so he was trapped in the Aleutian Islands for nine months—no flights out. It was just me and six kids that needed homeschooling. I pulled all the furniture out of the bar, and made a section for each of them: pillow, blankets, everything they needed. Then I had to figure out how to survive. Other bar owners were just throwing up their hands, but I had to try something. I began catering dinners for emergency workers at a nearby hotel. It wasn’t much money, but it was something to do. Each night I’d cook dinner for thirty people. The kids would help when they could: peeling potatoes, washing dishes. But I’d be so exhausted every day. Everyone had so much faith in me to survive. Maybe because I keep the tough side out—everyone assumed I was OK. Nobody knew I was full of worries. But it was so freakin’ hard. To keep the kids happy. Month after month I’m falling further behind on the rent. It felt like the walls were closing in. But my regulars kept showing up. They ran errands for me. Sometimes they’d take the kids on walks to give me a break. There was a group of Irish musicians who would play here every Thursday night. They helped me set up an online store, so that I could sell scones to the music people. Soda bread scones with homemade blackberry jam. My mother’s recipe from back in Ireland. Really, it’s the simplest thing-- but all six of us kids used to line up for them. In January a reporter named Roger Clark from NY1 came to do a story on the bar—about how I’ve been running it all alone, with my kids. And that angel, he had the anchors taste a scone live on TV. It created big scone hype for a few months. It wasn’t a ton of money. I was only making $1800 for 100 boxes of scones. It wasn’t paying rent or anything. But it was something to do, you know? I finally found something that was working. People were writing notes, saying: ‘I gave these to my grandmother, and she loved them.’ It was the little bit of light that I needed. It pulled me forward. I didn’t feel alone anymore. It was like: ‘Oh My God, there’s something out there.’”

“People love to tell me their shit. That’s always been my superpower. A person in the back of an ambulance will tell me their deepest, darkest secrets. And I can usually find a connection with just about anyone. This is New York, so I’ve got patients from all over the world. When I ask them where they’re from, they might say: ‘Mongolia.’ So I’ll tell them about my trip to Mongolia. Or Nepal. Or Zimbabwe. I’ve made it to about 90 different countries so far. I’ve never been married. Never been great at relationships. So I decided early on that travel was going to be my thing. I’d work a million hours until I could afford a plane ticket, then I’d take a trip somewhere. Afterwards I’d come back and do it all over again. My world was so tiny when I started. I was just a kid from Brooklyn. I’d had a pretty traumatic childhood—my brother was murdered when I was sixteen. And I felt like the world had it in for me. Everything felt so personal. I knew other people were hurting, but it was an abstract thing-- until I started travelling. I began to meet people on the other side of the world who were suffering just as much as me. But you know what? They had decided to joyfully partake in that suffering. They opened their homes to me. They cooked meals for me. They told me their stories. They shared all their shit. And I’m like: ‘Wow. You grew up in Bombay. I grew up in Brooklyn. But we have the exact same story.’ It really opened me up. Now when I’m comforting someone in the back of an ambulance, I have this great big world to pull from. In a job like this you see things that kinda make you want to pull back from the world. Child abuse. That’s the big one for me. Seeing the beatings, seeing the hurt kids. It’s just so dark. And you project that darkness on everyone. You want nothing to do with other people. You want to pull back, and close up. But travel has always been the thing that keeps me open. It keeps me curious. Because no matter how dark it gets, the moment I step on that plane— I’m surrounded by possibilities again. There’s always something I haven’t seen. Or a dish I haven’t eaten. Or a person I haven’t met, who’ll tell me something that I’ve never heard before.”
One of the greatest partners I’ve ever had in my career on EMS. He calmly helped me through my first cardiac arrest patient. He told me there was more to me than the smile I gave to everyone else , and asked my story. Truly one of the most amazing people I’ve had the privilege of meeting in my life
What an absolutely amazing human Travel is the best teacher . It opens your mind, it heals and it connects you to the rest of the world. So impressive how proactive this man is!!

“At it’s essence it's very beautiful. No matter your race or color—we’re here to save you and provide comfort. But it’s not natural what you see in this job: shootings, stabbings, body over here, head over there. The other day a mother threw her kid out the window and then jumped out the window herself. Of course the paramedics were the first on the scene. And somehow, instead of running in terror, they’re treating this kid and trying to save him. Then they run to the mother. And instead of snuffing her out, they’re trying to save her too. It’s a very noble thing. But it takes a heavy toll. It leaves an imprint, it absolutely does. All those horrible things you see in the media—we see it up close, in real life. Don’t get me wrong; we see wonderful things too: people helping people, babies getting delivered. But it’s not enough wonderful. You can’t dip your paintbrush in the wonderful and cover over the tragic. There’s not enough paint. You hope to find it outside of work—some positivity in life. But an EMS worker tops out at $50,000 a year. So a lot of us are driving ubers and stocking shelves at the supermarket just to put food on the table. Imagine that: 911 calls all day then clean-up in aisle five. That’s not a life. You’re too beaten down to ever get healthy. 68 percent of the workforce has left in the past 4 years. That means the person trying to save your life doesn’t have much experience. But it also means we have less community. Less people to lean on. EMS workers have the highest rate of suicide of any 911 service. Highest rate of substance abuse. Second highest rate of divorce. And the services rendered to us are nonexistent. We need a living wage. We need universal mental healthcare. I’ve personally been in therapy since I was 26. It’s helped me find my voice, and now I’m trying to use that voice to help my coworkers. A lot of my work as a union representative is mundane stuff. Anthony, I need time off. Anthony, the chief is fucking with me. But sometimes it’s a lot more than that. Sometimes it’s talking down somebody who wants to kill themselves. And trust me—I know what they’re going through. Because I’ve had those thoughts too.”
Thank you thank you THANK YOU for featuring him. He is a voice for all of us in EMS. Especially after the pandemic, we showed up day after day, exhausted mentally emotionally and physically, but we are still feeling the effects. We showed up without a thought. But we are tired, and we’re broke. But we still show up because we love our communities. We love people. But it doesn’t come without a price.

Last night I caught Esther on FaceTime just as she was switching trains on the way to work. For the first minute of the call, she just giggled. But then she grew quiet and tried to express her thoughts: ‘I’ve never had so many compliments,’ she said. ‘All of them were meaningful, but to read from moms, telling me: You deserve this— you did the right thing.’ I had to wear my sunglasses on the train. Because for so long I’d felt guilty. That maybe I should have worked more. A few months ago I was cleaning a lady’s house, and I asked if I could leave a little early-- because my daughter was coming home from college that day. But the lady didn’t like that. She thinks maybe I just don’t want to work. And it made me feel so guilty. It’s not that I’m afraid of work. I’ve been working since I was thirteen. But after my daughters were born, I wanted to work less. So I could be there when they came home at 4 PM. I thought it was more important than to make another $20 or $50. Sometimes it hurt us. Sometimes we needed things, and I didn’t have it. But I didn’t want them to be alone. So to read the comments, from other moms, saying: ‘They needed you there. You did the right thing.’ I needed to read that. And thank you so much to everyone who gave. Now I can have a retirement plan. And most people I know— my older sisters— they don’t have these things. They are tired, and sick, but they keep working. And that’s OK. But in a way, it’s not. Because they all have a story like mine. We’ve all been working since we were very young. But I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t have to work until I can’t. I can take some time. With my daughters especially. They’re not as young anymore, but still, we can do things together. I can take them places. And not just to a park anymore. But to dinner-- and restaurants. I can enjoy, and not feel guilty. So thank you. I’m also going to take time for myself now. I’m going to get my GED. It will be hard, because of the math. Even in sixth grade I hated math. But I’m going to do it. So thank you to everyone. To the people who gave so much. And also to the people who gave just a little, because it grew into something very big for me.”

“We were in a shelter for a few months. My sisters weren’t old enough to remember, but I was five. So I still have memories. But one thing I don’t remember is my mother ever getting emotional. The only time she’d cry is when we were praying in church. We’d all be huddled together, praying for the same thing. It’s the only thing I’ve ever asked of God: for our family to be together again. Dad got deported when I was twelve or thirteen. After that my mom had to start working much more. She took extra housekeeping jobs on the weekend. And I’m still not sure how she did it, because I don’t remember her being absent from important things. She was the one pushing me and my sisters to do more and more. She’d sign us up for music class at the community center. And swimming lessons. She was the one who pushed us to join the debate team. She could never make it to the actual debating, but she’d come in the evening for the awards ceremony. She was at every single parent-teacher meeting. Our teachers would joke: ‘You don’t have to be here. You know what we’re going to say.’ But I think she just needed to be reassured-- that we were doing great. There was so much she couldn’t give us: concert tickets, new clothes. She at least needed to know that she was being a good mother. I went on to graduate from Wesleyan. My other sister from Yale. And my youngest sister is at Stanford right now. I think when my mom looks at us, she sees her own potential. She left school in sixth grade to work on her family’s farm. She’s low income. Undocumented. For her entire life she’s been so limited. I’m working at a nonprofit right now. And it’s not a ton of money, so I’m still living at home. My mom wakes up earlier than I do. She comes home later. She works harder for less money. And she doesn’t have real health insurance. The other day I was at a staff retreat. We were sitting on a rooftop, drinking wine. And I couldn’t help but think about my mom. She’s never been to a rooftop. There’s a whole other side of this city that she’s never seen. A whole other side of life. It’s a side she would have known if she’d been able to navigate the world. And it’s a side I hope to show her one day. The only photo I have from childhood is from my sixth-grade report card. It was the same year my mother told me I had to leave school. I moved to Mexico City and began working as a housekeeper for a rich family. They had a daughter who was the same age as me. And I felt so envious of her. She had her own bedroom. She had so many nice things. She went to the concerts of famous singers. But most importantly, she was going to school. When I was fifteen I came to America. I started working in the home of a young couple. It was near a high school, and it hurt me every morning. Seeing all those teenagers going to school. When my daughters were born, I said: ‘They’re going to college, no matter what.’ I started reading little books to them every night. My English wasn’t good, but I knew they wouldn’t judge me. But after third grade it became very hard for me to help them. Especially in math. But I kept pushing them. I told them my story. How I’d been all alone in life. How I never had this opportunity—to go to school. I always said to them, in Spanish: ‘Tu exito es mi exito.’ Your success is my success. I don’t know why they worked so hard. Maybe because we didn’t have anything. Other classmates had their mother, father, car, house. But we had nothing. Just me. There were days I couldn’t pay the $20 for their school trips. I could have taken extra work: more days, more hours. But I wanted to be there when they got home. I wanted to talk to them. To cook them a healthy breakfast in the morning. I wanted them to at least have me. Some of my family members were pushing me to work more. Maybe I seemed lazy to them. For wanting to spend time with my daughters. Back then I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. But maybe now they see. When my daughters graduated, I wish I could have done more. I put up some decorations at home. But I wish I could have done more, like the other parents. Maybe give them a car. Or take them somewhere nice. I’m not allowed to leave the country, but I’d love to take them somewhere. Maybe Connecticut. Or Pennsylvania. Just a surprise of some sort. Telling them, I’m thankful for them. For giving me this gift. Tu exito es mi exito.”

“The gospel of Jesus is not a rational concept to be explained in a theory of salvation, but a story about God’s presence in Jesus’ solidarity with the oppressed, which led to his death on the cross. What is redemptive is the faith that God snatches victory out of defeat, life out of death, and hope out of despair.”
― James H. Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree

“The greatest single reason for [the] Christian church’s failure . . . is its failure to combat racism.”
― Malcolm X

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I know Democrats delivered tangibles for Asian Americans, LGBTQ, and other demographics and weren’t able to give reparations, voter protection, police reform, livable wages, or any substantive deliverables to Black people, who gave them the House, Senate, and presidency, but they did give us a day off to celebrate Juneteenth and are making August ‘Hip Hop Recognition Month.’

So, as you work your low wage job, struggle to pay your student loan debt, and try to stave off eviction in the middle of a pandemic, at least you can play some Big Daddy Kane and KRS One.

HAPPY MONDAY FAM! Today I’m choosing to enjoy the journey of being an entrepreneur instead of focusing on an “end” results. I’ve learned that small perspective shifts can transform your life and overall day to day happiness. Take two min to think of one small change you want to make today!

I also want to thank you all for your sweet messages from my story post (swipe all the way left ICYMI). Crazy to hear how many of you have experienced something similar - we still live in a misogynistic world where being independent can still be viewed as being entitled, but I have full faith we can change that with our generation. 🧡

Anywho, here’s a photo dump of me from my appearance on @nbcnews discussing my company @livetinted. I’m so proud of it & can’t wait to see more women build companies that shatter societal norms. I’m rooting for you ladies!

I mean so many scenes hit home but one I couldn't stop thinking about was when Devi was called "Crazy Devi". I remember a few girls at school would call me "Deepica Creepica" and proceeded with "you make me want to Puke-ica". I tried to play it off as nbd, but the psychological impacts of that are real. The fact that I'm even thinking about it and go to therapy discussing it clearly means something lol.

Man, growing up is tough, but you know what, so are you. You WILL get through it & I'm here to tell you it 100% does get better .