“I find the whole concept of being ‘sexy’ embarrassing and confusing. If I do an interview with photographs people desperately want to change me - dye my hair blonder, pluck my eyebrows, give me a fringe. Then there’s the choice of clothes. I know everyone wants a picture of me in a mini-skirt. But that’s not me. I feel uncomfortable. I’d never go out in a mini-skirt. It’s nothing to do with protecting the Hermione image. I wouldn’t do that. Personally, I don’t actually think it’s even that sexy. What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder. - Emma Watson
For you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.(1 Corinthians 6:20)
(ako lang ang nagsulat nitong mga susunod na salita, hehe [sevenbeetles] naka-link ang totoong artikulo ni juanrepublic): May isang argumento na ang diborsiyo ay makakatulong para sa mga babae, lalo na sa mga may kasong nabubugbog ng asawa o di kaya mga kaso tulad ng tambay na asawa na nang-aabuso pa sa nagtatrabahong ina.
Huwag kayo magkamali, para ako sa mga kababaihan. Kung dahil lamang sa mga kasong ganito, halos pumayag na ako at kumampi sa mga gusto magkaroon ng batas pang diborsyo sa Pilipinas. Subalit, mapapaisip ka para sa pangkalahatan, makabubuti nga ba ito sa mga kababaihan? sa pamilya? sa mga bata? sa moralidad ng mga anak ni Inang Pilipinas? Baka naman masyado tayo nagiging atat sa mga salitang “progreso”, “liberal”, at “sekularismo” at sang-ayon na tayo ng sang-ayon basta ganito ang usapan. Tumigil muna tayo at pag-isipan, progreso nga ba ito? Mas magiging malaya nga ba tayo (lalo na ang mga kababaihan) gayong alam na natin na may isang malalapitang paraan para hiwalayan ang asawa halos kailanman natin, o ng asawa natin, gusto? Sa larangan ng sekularismo, tumigil muna tayo at mag-isip, tignan natin ang mga nagmalabis sa pagiging sekular na bansa, ipinagbawal nila ang pagdarasal sa silid-aralan, ipinagbawal ang bibliya at tahasang pagtuturo ng relihiyon. Ngayon magtataka sila kung bakit maraming adik sa bansa, kung bakit wala nang hiwaga ang pagtatalik dahil talamak ang PMS, kung bakit nawawala rin ang hiwaga ng kasal dahil sa talamak ding diborsiyo. Ano nga ba ang “progreso”?
Mga mapupulot sa artikulo:
#3: Ibinubukas ng diborsyo ang okasyon sa mga kabataan na maging iresponsable sa pagpili ng mapapangasawa. Lalo nitong ibinubuyo sila na paglaruan ang pag-ibig, lalo na ang kababaihan.
#11: Pagkatapos ng mula hanggang 10 taon diborsyo, batay sa 20 taong pagsasaliksik, ito ang nagiging ugat ng kahirapang pinansyal ng asawang babae at ng kanilang mga anak. (Amberl, 1998; Bouchard et al, 1991:6; Ross, Scolt and Kelly, 1995 :67).
Hindi pa man natatapos ang nakaka-high blood usapin tungkol sa Reproductive Health Bill, heto na naman at may bago na namang pakulo ang ating mga talentado at nuknukan ng galing na Crocodylus mindorensis na mga mambabatas.
Kesyo tayo na lang daw ang bansa sa buong mundo na hindi nagpapahintulot…
A Wal-Mart bathroom is no place for this. Graffiti colors the walls, watches her. She watches back. The air is stagnant with her anxiety, her prayer. She begs the clock, run faster. Time overlooks her.
One line; two lines. Her heart forgets how to work. She wants to scream, no one‘s listening. No shreds of comfort find her. Alone, branded. Everything’s changed.
Crying was everything but a past time for the satin skinned child. Her eyes resembling her soul, red with anger but stoic in the center. Her mind wondering who rather than what. Who made her cry all this time? Was it the god who loves you unconditionally under certain conditions? Or the people who will hate you under any condition at all?
He dreamed he was driving somewhere in the steppes, where he had been stationed long ago. A peasant was driving him in a cart with a pair of horses, through snow and sleet. He was cold, it was early in November, and the snow was falling in big wet flakes, melting as soon as it touched the earth. And the peasant drove him smartly, he had a long blond beard. He was not an old man, somewhere around fifty, and he was wearing a gray smock. Not far off was a village. Dmitri could see the black huts. Half the huts were burned down, there were only charred beams left. And as they drove in, there were peasant women along the road, a lot of women, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort of brownish color, especially one at the edge, a tall, bony woman, who looked forty but might have been only twenty. In her arms was a crying baby. And her breasts seemed so dried up that there was not a drop of milk in them. And the child cried and cried, and held out its little bare arms, with its little fists blue from cold.
“Why are they crying? Why are they crying?” Dmitri asked, as they dashed by.
“It’s the babe,” answered the driver. “The babe is crying.”
Dmitri was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, “the babe.” He liked the peasant’s calling it a “babe.” There seemed more pity in it.
“But why is it crying?” Dmitri persisted stupidly. “Why are its little arms bare? Why don’t they wrap it up?”
“The babe’s cold. Its little clothes are frozen and don’t warm it.”
“But why is it? Why?” Dmitri still persisted.
“Why, they’re poor people, burned out. They’ve no bread. They’re begging because they’ve been burned out.”
“No, no.” Dmitri still did not understand. “Tell me why it is those poor mothers stand there? Why are people poor? Why is the babe poor? Why is the steppe barren? Why don’t they hug each other and kiss? Why don’t they sing songs of joy? Why are they so dark from black misery? Why don’t they feed the babe?”
And he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable and senseless, yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it just in that way. And he felt that a passion of pity, such as he had never known before, was rising in his heart, and that he wanted to cry, that he wanted to do something for them all, so that the baby should cry no more, so that the dark-faced, dried-up mother should not weep, that no one should shed tears again from that moment. He wanted to do all this at once, at once, regardless of obstacles, with the recklessness of the Karamazovs.
~The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Aisha, 18 years old, told Time her nose and ears had been cut off – with the approval of a Taliban commander – by her abusive husband as punishment for running away.
The front cover generated debate over the headline “What Happens if We Leave Afghanistan” and the use of the photo itself.
Her surgery is being done by the Grossman Burn Foundation in California.