Nury Alejandra
by Nury Alejandra
Nury Alejandra
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praydeath:

daily reminder
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"Turning you on turns me on."
Unknown (via natashakills)
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"Someone may not have a high position in society, but if in his heart he maintains loving kindness toward all living beings, in reality he is a realized being."
Geshe Kelsang Gyatso - “Eight Steps to Happiness” (via dancingdakini)
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mysweetpeapodoflove:

Hello, new favorite nonfiction book.
Just finished #Girlboss and feeling super empowered and fiercely stylish. Sophia Amoruso, you are one badass bitch.
mysweetpeapodoflove:

Hello, new favorite nonfiction book.
Just finished #Girlboss and feeling super empowered and fiercely stylish. Sophia Amoruso, you are one badass bitch.
mysweetpeapodoflove:

Hello, new favorite nonfiction book.
Just finished #Girlboss and feeling super empowered and fiercely stylish. Sophia Amoruso, you are one badass bitch.
mysweetpeapodoflove:

Hello, new favorite nonfiction book.
Just finished #Girlboss and feeling super empowered and fiercely stylish. Sophia Amoruso, you are one badass bitch.
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huffingtonpostwomen:

Sophia Amoruso, Founder & CEO of Nasty Gal, author of #GIRLBOSS. 
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styledon:

May’s Must-Do List
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thedivinesociety:

Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes; understanding that they have thoughts, feelings, and emotions as well and that it is not all about you. Would serve some people very well to learn this technique to enlightenment.
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kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino
kim-jong-chill:

"The first time I saw Jennifer, I knew. I knew she was the one. I knew, just like my dad when he sang to his sisters in the winter of 1951 after meeting my mom for the first time, "I found her."
A month later, Jen got a job in Manhattan and left Cleveland. I would go to the city - to see my brother, but really wanting to see Jen. At every visit, my heart would scream at my brain, “Tell her!” But I couldn’t work up the courage to tell Jen I couldn’t live without her. My heart finally prevailed, and, like a schoolboy, I told Jen, “I have a crush on you.” To the relief of my pounding heart, Jen’s beautiful eyes lit up and she said, “Me too!”
Six months later, I packed up my belongings and flew to New York with an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. That night, at our favorite Italian restaurant, I got down on my knee and asked Jen to marry me. Less than a year later, we were married in Central Park, surrounded by our family and friends. Later that night, we danced our first dance as husband and wife.
Five months later, Jen was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember the exact moment… Jen’s voice, and the numb feeling that enveloped me. That feeling has never left. I’ll also never forget how we looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands. “We are together, we’ll be okay.”
With each challenge, we grew closer. Words became less important. One night, Jen had just been admitted to the hospital. Her pain was out of control. She grabbed my arm, her eyes watering. “You have to look in my eyes, that’s the only way I can handle this pain.” We loved each other with every bit of our souls. 
Jen taught me to love, to listen, to give, and to believe in others and myself. I’ve never been as happy as I was during this time.
Throughout our battle, we were fortunate to have a strong support group, but we still struggled to get people to understand our day-to-day life and the difficulties we faced. Jen was in chronic pain from the side effects of nearly 4 years of treatments and medications. At 39, Jen began to use a walker and was exhausted from being constantly aware of every bump and bruise. Hospital stays of 10+ days were not uncommon. Frequent doctor visits led to battles with insurance companies. Fear, anxiety, and worries were constant.
Sadly, most people do not want to hear these realities, and at certain points, we felt our support fading away. Other cancer survivors share this loss. People assume that treatment makes you better, that things become okay, that life goes back to “normal.” However, there is no “normal” in Cancer-Land. Cancer survivors have to define a new sense of normal, often daily. And how can others understand what we had to live through every day?
My photographs show this daily life. They humanize the face of cancer, on the face of my wife. They show the challenge, difficulty, fear, sadness and loneliness that we faced, that Jennifer faced, while she battled this disease. Most important of all, they show our love. These photographs do not define us. They are us.
Cancer is in the news daily, and maybe, through these photographs, the next time a cancer patient is asked how he or she is doing, along with listening, the answer will be met with more knowledge, empathy, deeper understanding, sincere caring and heartfelt concern.”

The Battle We Didn’t ChooseAngelo Merendino