About

Jessica Tekin
23 / Melbourne

I get paper cuts too easily,
and I enjoy red wine too much.

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"Remember you never have an obligation
to fight the hurricane in your chest
Especially on a day when another healthy person suggests
‘you would feel so much better if you would just
focus your breath into a Buddha beam of light.’
Like that blind is going to miraculously dissolve the knife
that’s been churning in your kidneys for the last six fucking months
Say, Sunshine, please go back to your job
at the aroma therapy aisle at Whole Foods and leave me alone.
I know how to help my body
God does not expect me to use my inside voice
God knows how goddamn hard I am
working to become a smooth stone
So I can skip on my back across this red red sea
So I can trust deep in my screaming bones


Everything is a lesson
Lesson #1 through infinity:
You will never have a greater opportunity to learn to love your enemy
than when your enemy is your own red blood
Truce is a word made of velvet
Wear it everywhere you go"

~ Andrea Gibson - an insider’s guide on how to be sick

(Source: whisperingbones)


(via kvenleg)

Devendra Banhart by Ana Kraš

Devendra Banhart by Ana Kraš

(Source: devendraandana)


(via ethnic-princess)

There’s someone I have listed a friend on PSN who added me into a chatroom while I was in the middle of playing Skyrim, and I realised after entering into it that I have no idea who they are, whatsoever. I can’t think of a Tumblr friend or real-life friend with their username, and spent 15 minutes anxiously worrying about their identity and if I would come across as a horrible person for forgetting them and have been stricken with worry… so I write ‘hey there!

A minute later I receive a notification that they LEFT THE CHAT ROOM. Who are you? Why would you start a chat room with no intention of chatting? Do you know who am? HOW DARE YOU

I feel like this brief experience is just mirror of my social life at the moment and it feels both hilarious and sad in its accurate representation

"The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world."

~ Warsan Shire

(Source: wordsnquotes)


(via ohdelay)

Overgrown castle, Tokyo, Japan
Photo credit: xeeliz

Overgrown castle, Tokyo, Japan

Photo credit: xeeliz

(Source: malformalady)


(via cagn)

"Discovering sex was like discovering writing. It was powerful in a way couldn’t explain. Like writing, you had to go beyond the guilt and shame to get to anything good. Like writing, it could take you to deep and mysterious subterranean levels. With each new depth I found out things about myself I didn’t know I knew. And, like writing, for a slip of a moment it could be spiritual, the cosmos pivoting on a pin, could empty and fill you all at once like a Ganges, a Piazzolla tango, a tulip bending in the wind. I was no one, I was nothing, and I was everything in the universe little and large—twig, cloud, sky. How had this incredible energy been denied me!"

~ Sandra Cisneros, Guadalupe the Sex Goddess 

(Source: alrededortuslabios)


(via beyourownboyfriend)

"

It was early in the morning, but he knew exactly what was happening in his chest and woke my mother to ask her to call an ambulance. Our telephone was in the living room, but before she could leave their bedroom to use it, he asked for something else. My father asked that the ambulance not use its siren.

Weeks later, when the fear of death had receded like some strange tide, my mother asked him about the siren. My father said simply that he worried it would have woken and frightened his three sleeping daughters. It is true that we were all light sleepers and that our farm was usually blanketed by the polite silence that comes from having no close neighbors, but what impossible kindness there was in my father’s request.

I have called it an act of kindness, which I think it was. It was considerate in a way I cannot begin to understand; generous in a way no one would expect, much less demand. Years later I still do not comprehend how in what very well might have been the final moments of his life, my father thought to ask for quiet so that his daughters might continue sleeping.

Kindness is like holding an ice cube in your hands. It stings, but then the cold dissolves; what at first you could barely hold becomes something you cannot let go. My father’s request for a quiet ambulance came from a man so familiar with kindness that the sting was completely gone: the ice was no longer cold, but one with the flesh.

"

~

Absolutely exquisite essay by Casey E. Cep, who recounts what her father’s heart attack taught her about kindness – a virtue that Kerouac captured beautifully and Einstein articulated so memorably.

Henry James, it turns out, was right.

Do your soul a favor and read Cep’s full essay.


(via cagn)

One of life’s biggest gambles is when you order a serving of ravioli from a restaurant, because you’re either presented with a bowl of delicious pasta, or three tiny pockets stuffed with disappointment that is meant to constitute a meal.

ugggggggghhhhh

today’s class was all about learning how to pitch to online media and publications, and as my class is composed of mostly fictional-print writers (or those with no digital experience) I was turned to help explain about how important it is for you to maintain and upkeep an online folio and connection to clients and potential employers. 

When it came to discussing pitches’ financial benefits, I said to the class that I never have personally asked in my first e-mail pitch what my rate of pay was… mainly due to my fear of being shot down for being presumptuous, and also mainly because a lot of my online writing work I push out there to simply feel fuzzy about having my name as a listed contributer. I said that 9/10 times if I was writing to a publication it was because I admired it for x and y reasons, and wanted to be a part of it’s community, and that I currently didn’t think that my writing skills were strong enough to make a large income out of. 

This was met with resounding backclash in class, and while I understand that a lot of people don’t have the spare time, funds or output levels for writing recreationally, the amount of distain and mockery I received for it was.. not just unnecessary but nearly unbelievable??

'It's free writers like you who are taking food off my table.' / 'Are you aware that you are a key reason as to why respect and quality in media has dropped so much so recently?' / 'Why would you want to prostitute your wares out for employers to take advantage of for free?' are probably some of the greatest/worst quotations of the day and now I'm side-eying the whole class and just

There’s nothing that makes me happier than see discussion on a piece that I write or a viewcount or a new piece being published with my name written in Gill Sans underneath the title, and I feel ridiculous (and ridiculed) to have to explain that and my drive to a roomful of people who regarded me as being a core problem of modern writing. 

I just didn’t think it would be so hard to find like-minded people in a writing degree  who thought that half the success of being a writer was about being passionate and having your work acknowledged and recognised; I don’t want to be economically driven if it’s not a necessity, because I don’t want to drop my own standards or passion or voice to suit higher management. I’d rather remain whatever prostitution metaphore ya want than do otherwise, and the frustration of having 23 other students around me not understand at all was just

ughhhhhhhgghhhhh

ugggggggghhhhh

today’s class was all about learning how to pitch to online media and publications, and as my class is composed of mostly fictional-print writers (or those with no digital experience) I was turned to help explain about how important it is for you to maintain and upkeep an online folio and connection to clients and potential employers.

When it came to discussing pitches’ financial benefits, I said to the class that I never have personally asked in my first e-mail pitch what my rate of pay was… mainly due to my fear of being shot down for being presumptuous, and also mainly because a lot of my online writing work I push out there to simply feel fuzzy about having my name as a listed contributer. I said that 9/10 times if I was writing to a publication it was because I admired it for x and y reasons, and wanted to be a part of it’s community, and that I currently didn’t think that my writing skills were strong enough to make a large income out of.

This was met with resounding backclash in class, and while I understand that a lot of people don’t have the spare time, funds or output levels for writing recreationally, the amount of distain and mockery I received for it was.. not just unnecessary but nearly unbelievable??

'It's free writers like you who are taking food off my table.' / 'Are you aware that you are a key reason as to why respect and quality in media has dropped so much so recently?' / 'Why would you want to prostitute your wares out for employers to take advantage of for free?' are probably some of the greatest/worst quotations of the day and now I'm side-eying the whole class and just

There’s nothing that makes me happier than see discussion on a piece that I write or a viewcount or a new piece being published with my name written in Gill Sans underneath the title, and I feel ridiculous (and ridiculed) to have to explain that and my drive to a roomful of people who regarded me as being a core problem of modern writing.

I just didn’t think it would be so hard to find like-minded people in a writing degree who thought that half the success of being a writer was about being passionate and having your work acknowledged and recognised; I don’t want to be economically driven if it’s not a necessity, because I don’t want to drop my own standards or passion or voice to suit higher management. I’d rather remain whatever prostitution metaphore ya want than do otherwise, and the frustration of having 23 other students around me not understand at all was just

ughhhhhhhgghhhhh

"I tried forming a gang once but it turned into a book club."

~ Ram Danielle

(Source: epicreads)


(via aquacrunked-deactivated20140418)
l-valencia:

painting during my spring break

l-valencia:

painting during my spring break


(via thekingintheinnernorth)

Perfume.

I don’t have many opinions when it comes to fashion or style; a lot of the time when people are comfortable in what they wear, or emulate a certain figure or friend and feel that they have done it justice, I’m happy for them. I’m always happy when a friend is half-matching with me, it’s like we’re both part of a cute fashion team of ‘hey look how cute we are and how much we know it.’ I love it when girls in my class gush about the lippy I’m wearing and wear it the following week, and I love it when someone has a cute pair of shoes on and lets me know where they’re from. I love that connection that girls and boys have between different tangible items, and I love them having their connection out on display.

However, one thing that I can’t stand is my friends or family wearing the same perfume as me.

I’m not too sure if it’s something I’ve grown up with knowing, but as soon as I smell something, it immediately reminds me of someone. Steamed asparagus, stale lavender, the various JOOP brands; all of them are signature dents and represent the people that are always scented by them (whether deliberately or otherwise.) I have four perfumes in my arsenal, all of which I love for different reasons. 

  • Live by Jennifer Lopez was the first perfume that I bought as a teenager and I bought it because of its gorgeous bottle and effeminate shape. The scent is fruity- it literally smells like melted down mango, pineapple and passionfruit with a hint of floral. 
  • Babydoll by YSL was the first time I tentatively dipped my toe into ‘designer’ perfume, but as I grew older my love for it faded as much as the colour has in its diamond-bottle. Now it just smells like vanilla essence and chrysanthemums to me.
  • Daisy by Marc Jacobs was my next bottle to use religiously and for most late-teens it was a rite of passage from smelling like girls lockers to ‘hi I can wear heels without falling over now.’ It’s hard to meet a twenty-something year old who doesn’t have a bottle of either Daisy, Lola or Dot by Marc Jacobs anymore. However, all of my relatives bought me Daisy bottles several birthdays in a row so that I can give it out if there’s ever a bomb threat at Marc Jacob’s HQ. 
  • At one point I stole my Dad’s Blue Jeans by Versace just because I felt rich, pungent, and a little bit of a git in my earlier-twenties but still wear it from time-to-time because male scents lasts so much longer and are so much richer and woody than vanilla shit
  • Miss Dior Cherie by Dior was the first ‘adult’ scent I bought, and absolutely loved it; following that, Viktor and Rolf’s Flowerbomb has been my floral lovechild for my neck, wrists and décolletage. 

All of these are now worn by family members and/or friends daily, and all of them smell like this twenty four hours a day. There isn’t a single perfume that I own that someone else doesn’t currently wear and I feel so uncomfortable smelling like every person I know. 

This is basically a long post asking you guys what do you smell like/are you equally uncomfortable about this/I smell like my Mum most days now/can you recommend me perfumes that you love and smell like because we will probably never meet?