Sometimes, I wonder about my dad. What kind of person he would have been if he was still alive. His looks, his political views and what he would have thought of me. I was 4 when he died. I don’t remember anything about him; not his voice, not his walk or his facial expressions. It’s like he never existed. I’m not sure why I’m thinking of this now. Probably because I just got into a fight with my step-father and literally screamed my lungs out at him, or maybe I’m just at this point in my life where I need a fatherly support. You would think it should be easier to deal with this as I get older since I practically never knew him, but no. It’s actually a lot harder now.
April 12, 2012
“يرضع الطفل من أمه حتى يشبع، ويقرأ على ضوء عينيها حتى يتعلم القراءة والكتابة، ويأخذ من نقودها ليشتري أي شيء يحتاجه، ويسبب لها القلق والخوف حتى يتخرج من الجامعة، وعندما يصبح رجلاً يضع ساقاً فوق ساق في أحد مقاهي المثقفين ويعقد مؤتمراً صحفياً يقول فيه: إن المرأة بنصف عقل!
— وليام شكسبير (via 7akeim)
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April 12, 2012
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Reblogged fromQuaint second hand book store in Versailles (Photo credit: A.A.)
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- Nikon D200
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March 22, 2012
">OPPRESSION’S CHILD Syrian refugees walk through woods, helped by rebels from the Free Syrian Army, as they attempt to cross the north-western part of their nation’s border with neighbouring Turkey. (Photo: Giorgos Moutafis / AFP-Getty via The Guardian)
Reblogged fromOPPRESSION’S CHILD Syrian refugees walk through woods, helped by rebels from the Free Syrian Army, as they attempt to cross the north-western part of their nation’s border with neighbouring Turkey. (Photo: Giorgos Moutafis / AFP-Getty via The Guardian)
