The poor things. It reminds me that there are many strange and real illnesses out there like elephantiasis and stuff... My heart hurts a bit now
it ok it nature it life
they wont life long although ;p
[doublepost=1448837918,1448754253][/doublepost]cat died today, ... I thnk I kill it ;(
also hear is a story from someone I know
You see two cultures and notice how some features are different. Culture is a mix of others that collide and deform. Culture changes, and evolves.
This is an enteral story with no end and no beginning; it is immortal because the force that moves it makes the society, and as long as there is human culture, this story will drive on. But—to start somewhere, let me say that some time ago I was gardening when suddenly my father asked to talk. I was wondering, if I was in trouble, so we sat at the table.
My father said, "You know … ‘Duarte’, I’m Hispanic and your mother is black—you belong to different cultures and in America they are called ‘minority’s’. You know mom, her culture is family orientated, she’s story, and knows how to survive in tough times. Me, the father, my culture revolves of family as well. Used to deal with hard times as well … but there is something I do not like about my culture and the best way of explaining it is to tell you a story that your grandfather went through when he came to America."
At that time, America was growing so fast, immigrations were a lot easier so it wasn’t hard for my grandfather to get permeant immigrant status. But, of course, Bulmaro did not speak in English, by chance of faith he decided to go to Chicago knowing that he had a relative there. When he arrived he was in a foreign country lost and alone; he had no money, and he could not have located his friend. Bulmaro decided to take refuge in the familiar Hispanic community. Bulmao walked into an establishment and said to one of the workers "My friend, I just got to Chicago, I was looking for a friend, but I could not find him. I am not begging but I wonder if you know where to find work."
The patron looked at him with disdain and said "I do not speak Spanish."
Somebody else, in this estate, was there and said to the patron "I know for a matter of fact that you
dospeak Spanish. Why are you pretending?"
Bulmaro, my grandfather, stops for a minute to think, and then he continues saying "Sometimes, the Hispanic culture gives up, and somehow wishes to be a better culture and then thinks that other cultures are better than his own. This is familiar trend of my culture—to think that other cultures are better, and the roots for these are old. Going back to the conquest of Tenochtitlan when the empire gave to an anchor test to supposedly the guy who conquered Mexico. A girl called "la malinche" something that later would be called as "malanchismo" which is the fault that other cultures are better than our own."
It seems that when the people knew the intruders were coming, they didn’t fight back? Yes, my father said who knows who knew when or who was coming, but they didn’t fight back.
This reminds me of what I see on the television; demonstrations against police brutality. I see how the black community protest against the cases, and I see in Mexico how corrupt the government is (not any less than America). I look at their news and I see how in one case, the people protest against a small mayor and he get the mafia and those 48 people disappeared, and later on all they found was broken burned bones. In another case, these students were protesting—for a better world. The government get everything—tanks, militia craft, missiles, and soldiers to demolish those thousands of hopeful students. I suppose my father once said how common brutality still is in Mexico, I think he said it seems
normal now. So maybe now, I think the reason Hispanic community does not fight back is because they know they will be destroyed. No remorse. Ruthless.
The story has to end somewhere—my father got quiet again; he looks at me deeply, and said "I’m glad that you are not only Hispanic, but black too. Try to get the best of both worlds." My father, gets up. Leaving me wondering, whether the story was true or not.
[doublepost=1448838149][/doublepost]if hope it make u beterr feel ;3 it wil lbe okay
life is tough ....
but frs I think I kil lthat cat Q_Q
I think I was trying to fix it and make it comfortable
but it neck snaped back and it started jerking
and soon it calm down and die .... ;( it jerk
because it was in pain like how if you get force -fed
you want to scream but u cant but the cat couldn't
scream because its bones in its jaw were so messed up
it is a heredity disease ...... but it die ;/ but it couldn't scream
[doublepost=1448840244][/doublepost]I will try to upload picture so u guys can diagnose how com it die
but I know it is because of heredity issues,
but I never seen a cat as a weird problem as this. ....
[doublepost=1448873640][/doublepost]but life moves on .....
