Dara Keo was just 12 when her mother sold her virginity for $500 to a wealthy, powerful Cambodian man. The virgin trade in Cambodia thrives due to a cultural myth that sex with a virgin can help men stay young and prevent illness — and also because no one has ever been convicted of purchasing virgins in Cambodia’s courts. Rattana Chey, 21, learned that her mother was planning to sell her virginity six years ago, and sought help from Riverkids, an organization that provides refuge, schooling and vocational training for children. The organization bribed Rattana’s family with rice in exchange for not selling her. She also learned sewing, making her the family breadwinner, and also allowing her to saver her two younger sisters. “My mother wants to try to sell their virginity, but I will never let that happen,” Rattana says. “Thanks to my earning ability, I am the most powerful person in our family now. I am determined to break the pattern.”Learn more via Marie Claire.  

And you dare tell me sexes were equal. You dare to tell me slavery ended. You dare to tell me the world has never been a hateful and cruel place. You go ahead and dare to tell me this world is as beautiful as you’d like to think it is, you obnoxious, ignorant, brain washed, self-important pricks.
"Mom, this might be my last chance to tell you I love you." - A text from a high school student who was aboard the ferry that capsized today off South Korea’s southern coast. Four passengers were killed, 55 were injured and more than 280 are missing. (via latimes)

(via taengay)


yo yo yo let it go

Yes, I would like a baby goat loaf, please
Don't Find Another Love
by Tegan And Sara
6 plays

"But I tried, didn’t I? Goddamnit, at least I did that." - One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (via this-is-exile)

(via cruciale)

"…in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that has been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainty, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or movie theatre, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveller, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time." - Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet (via lifeinpoetry)

(via highgradelove)