Ok, so if it hasn't been made obvious, although I think it is pretty obvious, I am a left-winger. What does this mean?? Quite a Nice explanation Yeah, this generally means I wouldn't support anything remotely related to Donald Trump/ Republicans (for you Americans :) ) or for a matter of fact, anything Israeli. If a country itself should be so blatantly right-wing, I think the award should go to Israel. And yet I do not condemn Israel. Or rather, I do condemn its actions especially in Palestine, but I think I am free from prejudice about Israelis in general or Jews. Most people, particularly in Asia mistake anti-Israel sentiments for anti-semitism. It is a most dangerous mistake. Jerusalem But, back to the BREAKING NEWS bit. So my senior- let's call him Tom, recently defended a certain local celebrity for selling hijabs to Israelis. This made me infinitely more interesting to me. Think how a guy with a girlfriend would be infinitely more interest...
Ertika, Pahel. "I used to be darker, see. Do you see, Ertika? Then, I started staying indoors and reading about the Party. Kauben Wrinfida says I look much better. She says the Party really is doing me good." Ertika yawns absentmindedly. She feels vaguely disturbed by her friend's words, like something inside her is dislodged a little but she cannot reach inside her heart and place exactly what is wrong. "I really liked your colour, Pahel. You looked like my mother when she was younger and everyone said she was pretty." Pahel squirms at the compliment, both pleased and annoyed. She has always been slightly under the shadow of Ertika's goodness, Ertika's selflessness, Ertika's studiousness without her even trying. She hates the thought that Ertika is so politically correct without even meaning to be. She, the child of exiled rightists, she must try so hard to erase her father and mother's harmful legacy and prove her devotion to the Pa...
She rolled the cigarette between two calloused fingers, savouring the feel. A wisp of smoke from between her chapped lips floated into the air, a silent song of something. 'Vol vol vol.' Indila's 'Derniere Danse' played in the cafe elsewhere, the melancholy song filling her ears and slowly falling into her. This is France, she thought to herself, a twenty five year old Malaysian immigrant with a baggage of hyphenated identities sitting in an isolated French cafe smoking a Chinese cigarette listening to a French-Algerian-Cambodian-Egyptian-Indian singer. As Indila works herself into a beautiful tragedy, she puts her head in her hands then takes a drag of her cigarette. There is a certain delicious irony in that ,she feels, especially with the rise of the National Front in France, people looking at her funny because of her name, the fact that she doesn't go to Church, mostly reads East Asian philosophers instead of Satre, eats neither pork nor beef, has a ...
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