#excel in education

[mimi-0007]

Emily Jazmin Tatum Perez (19 February 1983 – 12 September 2006) was an African-American military officer. After graduating from the United States Military Academy at West Point, Second Lieutenant Perez was serving in the Iraq War when she was killed in action by an improvised explosive device. She became the first black female officer in U.S. military history to die in combat and the first female graduate of West Point to die in Iraq.

[septemberkisses]

February - A month of falling in love with academics ���

[tyger-land]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 . . . 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠, 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 . . . 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

- Richard Wright, from his 1945 autobiography Black Boy.

- Photograph, 1945, by George Karger.

[afriblaq]

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A post shared by VMG Essence of Black Culture (@essenceofblackculture)

Oseola McCarty, a humble washerwoman from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, became an inspiring symbol of generosity and commitment to education.

At the age of 87, she donated her life savings of $150,000, accumulated over decades of hard work, to the University of Southern Mississippi.

Her gift was dedicated to providing scholarships for financially needy African American students, helping them pursue higher education opportunities she never had. McCarty famously said, “I want to help somebody’s child go to college… so that the children won’t have to work as hard as I did.”

In recognition of her remarkable generosity, the University of Southern Mississippi honored her legacy with a life-size bronze statue, unveiled on the Hattiesburg campus on October 9, 2020. Created by artist Ben Watts, the statue features McCarty seated with an empty chair beside her, inviting others to sit and reflect on her impact.

This tribute stands as a reminder of McCarty’s selflessness and her lasting contribution to the lives of countless students and the community.

[reality-detective]

Excellent Point 👆

“It’s always the men that wanna be women trying to get in the female's bathroom” 🤔

[thesagittarianmind]

[cosmicdiaries]

My personalized version of 75 hard days challenge

Since I was rooting for quite a few days and the only positive thing I did was to attend all my classes dutifully and do my assignments, I'm going to start doing this 75 hard days challenge to build my discipline once and for all. But I'm personalizing it for my own life style.

-Follow a Diet (No junk food, no eating after 10 pm so I can sleep comfortable)

-Workout (Stretch and meditation in the mornings before starting my day, calisthenics in the afternoon)

-Drink 1650 ml of water everyday (I counted the needed amount of water based on my weight in an app)

-Read 10-20 pages of book

Rules:

No Skipping or Modifications – If you miss even one task, you restart from Day 1.

No Cheat Days – You must stick to all rules without exception.

[bottombaron]

you know, i can handle a little bit of fun "Nandor is dumb" talk, but i have a net-zero tolerance for any implication that Nandor is not educated.

Nandor would have been incredibly educated in his lifetime.

even (or especially) as a soldier in the Islamic World. being a soldier was more like getting sent to boarding school that's also a military camp. they weren't just concerned with creating loyal fodder for war. they were building the next government officials, generals, accountants, advisors, etc. it was important that young men knew how to read, write, speak multiple languages, learn philosophy...sometimes even studying art and music was mandatory.

if he was nobility (and its most likely he was), take all that shit and multiply it exponentially. Nandor would have been reading Plato at the same age most people are still potty training. he would have been specifically groomed in such a way to not be just a brilliant strategist and warrior, but also diplomate and ambassador of literally the center of scientific and cultural excellence of the age.

so like yeah, he can be a big dummy sometimes, sure. but that bitch is probably more educated than any of us will ever be.

[spoiledbratblog]

[mimi-0007]

Let's go!!!

[the-blueprint]

kerrywashington

WOW 😍🤯!!!!! Obsessed with this #TBT from @themelanatedarchives! I wrote about it in my memoir #ThickerThanWater. It’s from when I was in high school! Back then I was in a theater company called S.T.A.R Theater - we would travel around to different schools and community centers and perform vignettes about sex education, drug abuse, self esteem - ALL KINDSA adolescent issues. And we got invited to participate in this ABC news special with Peter Jennings called “Growing up with AIDS”. The monologue is from our show. And it’s the first monologue I learned as a member of the company. Being in S.T.A.R. changed my life. It was my first time experiencing the power of art to transform culture and change hearts & minds. I learned sooooooo much at that job - as an artist and as an activist and as a human. I guess thats why I wanted to share this moment with you all ❤️❤️❤️

[elysiuminfra]

🧍i feel like if someone hasn’t been a patient at a psychiatric hospital they don’t really get just how dehumanized people with stigmatized disorders are. like. basic respect and dignity was just not present in my stays.

when i was 17, i was in the adolescent ward, and the conditions were just awful. it was a hospital up north, a bit of a ways out of town. bug infestations in the bedrooms. black mold in the showers. (you couldn’t shower with the door closed. someone had to be watching you.) mold in the food. it wasn’t for a lack of funding. none of it was going back to the facility. i had prescribed SSRI medication i took every day. i had my documentation prepared, and it took them 3 days to get it. i went into withdrawal after the first day, so i spent 48 hours in pain, in confusion, and not knowing where i was or what i was doing. we also got only one five minute phone call a day. i stayed there for only nine days, because i knew if you lied, made little noise, and made yourself as small as possible, they’d let you go sooner. some people had been there for weeks, months, years, even when they would’ve been better off at home, or in another facility - it was to make money off of their stay. pure profit off of traumatized children. children acted out because their needs were not being met and we were abused by the staff. children would be hit, tackled, forcibly sedated, verbally abused in regards to their weight or appearance, their belongings would be stolen by the staff. my mother couldn’t get any information out of the facility about me. she didn’t even know i was being released until the day i was allowed to leave.

a girl i was with fell ill with something. high fever, chills, throwing up, respiratory symptoms. i begged nurses to take her temperature, because i knew she had a fever, and the nurses refused, because we were crazy teenagers making it up. it wasn’t until i told a night nurse she was ill and nobody was listening that she took her temperature. 102. she was put on bed rest and given antibiotics, but was neglected so badly she developed pneumonia and had to go to the emergency room. she already had asthma and wasn’t getting enough oxygen. (she recovered, but i never saw her again.)

this was in a small town adolescent hospital in north louisiana. i was lucky my stay was so short.

after this, years later, i had to go to another hospital. i was put in the addict ward for having narcotics in my system, and that stay was a lot better. i was an adult, the nurses were attentive, and the staff considerate. (another interesting story for another time.) before that, in the ER while they were looking for a facility with open beds, i was locked in a small concrete room. i was confined to my bed and had to ask to leave it if i wanted to use the bathroom. if i got up without permission i would’ve been tied down. no windows, except for the security guard always watching me. tv on 24/7. constant noise. 72 hours, no medication, intense ssri withdrawal. a man in a room next to me was tied down and beaten for shouting for help. (i don’t even blame him. he didn’t know where he was or what was going on!)

day two i asked the security guard for water, as i hadn’t had much in 24 hours. he did not give me any. i waited three hours before a nurse came by and checked my vitals. i begged her for water. she was baffled that i had to wait so long just to be given a cup of tap water.

no clocks either. no sense of what time it was. no way to see if it was day or night. tiny grey room. no control over the noise, the lights, or movement. no medication. no communication. just the threat of being tied down if i made too much of a fuss. for 72 hours! i used to not have claustrophobia, but now i cannot stand feeling trapped in a space, or i start to freak out. this was just my stay in the emergency room! and i had no idea when i was going to leave!

anyways. these stories are tame in comparison to what other people have seen and dealt with. but i think about it. i’m haunted by it. people like me are kept locked up in facilities where they are abused and unable to recover in those conditions. i was lucky that i could play their game. i could force myself to stay quiet and be small enough that they couldn’t find a reason to keep me longer. and it’s all for profit. they make so much fucking money off of it. particularly adolescent facilities. but people who have never had to deal with psychiatric facilities first hand don’t care because they’ve never been in a position where you are suffering and you’re begging medical staff to help you and they just treat you like a liar so you’re forced to suffer quietly or theyd sedate you 🤷 or lock you in a room and leave you there until they felt like you were allowed to leave.

so you’re there because you’re mentally ill and need help but if you showed signs of being mentally ill they would punish you for it.

[tyger-land]

ᴊᴀᴄᴏʙ ʟᴀᴡʀᴇɴᴄᴇ City College is Like a Beacon Over Harlem. 1943. Gouache watercolor: 21 × 14 in. (53 × 35 cm).

[afriblaq]

This was 80 years ago! 🤯