A love letter to hated animals and my babies

A text on hated animals and my vinyl face plushie collection and how why where when I love....i hate making summaries read it OR NOT idgaf, I do gaf Im just being sassy and silly, enjoy my text <3

Currently current, I realized most of my favourite animals are misunderstood animals. I love orcas, I love pigeons, I love rottweilers, I love sharks, but then again, I hate rats, bats and other animals that are mostly peaceful, but still hated. I am scared of them a lot. I was about to philosophize and romanticize my love for misunderstood animals, but I now contradicted myself. Now what.

Now I also tell you that I have severe baby fever and currently realized that my obsession with vinyl faced plushies might just be me soothing that baby fever. I digress and first will digest my love for (some) hated animals.

I love orcas, because they are so smart and emotional and have such interesting cultures that differ from one to the other ecotype. I love cats the most though, in that regard I am basic. Before I die, I want to see orcas in the wild and once I am dead, I’d like to be buried alongside a dead cat. I do not know how to source a cat that dies when I also die, but in case that’s too difficult, I ask for my loved ones to at least put a cat plushie with a real cats collar in my grave. I take that back, maybe that’s a little morbid, but also, then me and that kitty will be happy in heaven forever. I am scared I’m going to hell, but I really in my heart try to be a kind person, I never mean any harm, but what if I am that evil that I do not even purposefully am evil and then I go to hell because of that and because of being gay. Then at least I’ll be with my kitty, I hope. All I need is a cat. And you. I love orcas, because when I think of their beauty and intelligence and the abuse and bad rep they face by us humans, the song “My baby my baby” by Mitski plays in my mind. When I hear that song, I also get a vivid vision of my babies I will never give birth to, cus I am a boy, and then I get sad. Orca mothers cry, when they are separated from their calves. I love orcas, yes, I do. I love my babies, yes, I do.

I also love rottweilers, yes, I do. I like most dogs and of course love the small fluffy ones, but I always wanted a rottweiler with a pink sparkly collar. Something about a dog whose reputation is that of being dangerous, a threat and a guard, but in a cute collar and smiling from ear to ear, is so adorable. I do not know much about them or stats about dog attacks, but I do know that more dogs kill humans than orcas. More humans kill humans than dogs though, so I guess that does not matter. I used to always want a dog as a child, but now I am a full on cat person. I never had contact with cats as a kid but once as a teen my aunt had 2 cats, and they were so cute and loved accompanying me when I drew. That is when it all changed. I became a cat person. Meow. I love cats. The contrast of pink sparkles and bows on a strong rottweiler remind me of a conversation I witnessed at the Nuremberg Luna Park. This story involves a strong big man, the type I want to be hugged by and told: “everything is going to be okay, I will always be by your side”, yes that type of man, but actually even stronger than that, this man was a bodybuilder, which isn’t the type of man I envision when I envision my soulmate, but writing big and strong made me very hopeless romantic and…let me start again. So, at the Nuremberg luna park, the bodybuilder and his very fem girlfriend (I want to be her) were standing in front of a rollercoaster, I think it was “Wilde Maus”. Then the girlfriend said something along the lines of “Oh my god you are such a coward, I will go alone on the ride, hold my purse” and she stormed off. The bodybuilder, with a buzzcut, wearing a black tight t shirt and ripped jeans, was now holding his girlfriend’s pink purse and you could tell that he was trying to hide his embarrassment and insecurity in his masculinity. All he could do was wait on his more courageous girlfriend, holding her girly purse, a girly purse in a embarrassed big strong man’s big strong hand. This visual, this moment, reminds me a bit of the image of a strong rottweiler with a pink collar and bow, but the Rottweiler would be smiling and happy, not embarrassed, as the bodybuilder should also not be. I am insecure. I am very strong and independent, but not by choice, I just never had or have anyone I fundamentally can rely on. A role that parents should have, and I love my parents but just okay…I will stop it there. I do not want to get into it. I love Rottweilers, I say as I rot for a little while longer. AYYY THAT ATE im lowkey a poet, omg I should make a song with the melody “Im sexy and I know it” but it should be “Im a poet and I know it”. Dumb idea, I hate that, lets get back to the hated animals I love.

I want to get back to pigeons. Pigeons are the Elphabas of birds. They are gorgeous and have sparkly necks that shimmer so magically, but they are hated and seen as pests. The saddest part is, they used to be domesticated, we just decided we did not need them anymore and abandoned them, I bet there are old timey stories pigeons pass down, retelling tales of a time long gone where pigeons were treated kindly and kept as pets. In New York I heard some people still keep pigeons as pets. In New York I was stood up for a date getting iftar in the lower east side of Manhattan. I cried on my way home listening to “don’t want to break up again” by Ariana Grande. I felt like the main character, but also … mainly like a pigeon. I relate to pigeons. No matter where they are they somehow survive and they have an unappreciated beauty, not that I am beautiful or unappreciated, but I relate to the hidden shimmer in their neck feathers that shift from green to purple, only appreciated if you shake the preconceived notion that they are a pest, too much. Such a beautiful colour combination, such a sad little story, I love pigeons,

but I hate rats and mice, not just because they are ugly, but because they broke into my house and traumatised me. Pretty privilege is real, even with animals. I eat animals, dead ones, but the pretty cat I would never eat. If I was an animal, id be eaten…but pigeons are not usually eaten. You have to be pretty or be eaten or beaten. That’s what it is and mice and rats, those I beat, if they try to beat me. I truly despise their presence. I hope to never meet a cockroach nor a pussyroach. I do not want to talk about this too much, I need to move on.

I want to shark dive. I love sharks, they are so cool and big. I hope there are Megalodons in the ocean, that would be cool.

I had a big Ikea shark plushie as a kid, my mom threw it away, I miss it, but now I have a small shark plushie and little shark keychain from my friend that I hang on my Skullpanda, one of my vinyl faced plushies. I am madly in love with vinyl faced plushies, especially Chinese blind boxed ones. My friends do seem concerned if it is an addiction of mine, since I also have so many plushies, but I do not think it an addiction, its my medication, they are my vices. I thought vices means something that is comforting, soothes you in an almost medication-y way, but upon googling it I was wrong. It means something wicked, I know it from Demi Lovato’s song “Happy Ending”

“I got high
You name it, I've tried it
Sure, I'm sober now
And everybody's proud
But I miss my vices
And I tried to be your hero
I lent you my voice
I was your poster child
It was working for a while
But it didn't fill the void”

Am I, gonna die, trying to find my happy ending…will I ever now its like being fine without pretending that MY SKIN ISNT CRLAWWWLING (I’m singing the lyrics, I will listen to the song now, I’ll be back soon, omg I just saw I didn’t pass my honours exam, so I’m not graduating with honours, that’s so annoying…I WILL SING)

I am back. I feel like I always have to claw and reach and truly fight for every little opportunity in my life, rarely things go smoothly, I feel like I always have to prove I’m worthy by being my own strongest supporter, it is tiring, the earth is not fair or unfair, it just is, and I am vey lucky to be alive and have food and go study art, but I just wish the world would return more support back but… I WILL STOP NOW I AM VERY GREAFTUL thank YOU ALLAH, LETS Move ON TO TALK BOUT MY BABIES <3

My babies, my vinyl plushies. I have 2 Wakukus, 3 Ruby Toys Plushies, 3 Q.Kids, 1 Monchichi, 1 Upset Duck, 1 Monboo, 1 Lucky Star and 1 skullpanda and 1 Pouka Pouka coming. My grandma used to collect dolls and for her recent 80^th birthday I got her a doll from Istanbul, and I think my love for these plushie dolls started in her doll room. She has this bear plushie with a vinyl face and many other dolls and they creeped me out as kid, but now, they serve as nostalgic fuel for my love for vinyl face plushies. I have severe baby fever, if I was a girl I would have a baby right now, no doubts about it. I love babies so much and I sometimes get so sad that I can not get pregnant. I want to be pregnant so bad. These toys I buy they fulfil that in my soul, I think. I also think and know that I am bad at writing good, I hate putting on an act to sound academic and smart, my sentences are too long, grammar bad, God bless spell checkers. This is why I did not pass my honours exam…at least I have my babies. I do admit that I need to slow down with buying them, I am very careful and picky with which ones I buy, and I do not purchase several from a series to chase a specific kind, I am very content with getting one random one from a series I like. However, I am not rich yet and I can not spend so much money on these things, but it makes me so happy…I am sad that it makes me happy, because I am scared that I am happy not because I like them but because I like the thrill, but I do like them, but what if. What if questions are the worst, they are diving board into insanity. Having to rely on myself and not having anywhere that feels like home, like an abandoned pigeon, I do not have anywhere or anyone soft to fall on. The ground is rock hard and if I fall, I splatter into a thousand pieces. My babies soften to fall, maybe like the paraglider in Breath of the Wild or a pile of leaves in a cartoon, but regardless they sooth me and cushion me…even if it is for just a while, I am deciding that I deserve that comfort, I should not need it but it helps me, unfortunately it costs money. I am a bit ashamed of it and even a bit embarrassed, I am a bit embarrassed about this whole text and I wish to say I don’t care, but I do, but I just still try to do it. I lost the plot and if I, the writer, lost it, then you must be even more extremely lost.

This is my testimony.

God is my only home.

But how come, when I went to the world’s most beautiful mosque, as always, I get scared and uncomfortable having to leave the girls and stay in the men’s part.

I felt abandoned and rejected in Gods house.

What if I am a pigeon to God?

Or am I a pigeon to the earth?

I hope not.

I can’t know, I am just human.

If I am a pigeon, please leave me some crumbs.

In art classes I only did what I wanted to, even if it was not what they wanted to see, not cause I have a rebellious fire in me, but because I am immovable stone.

Now what am I a pigeon or a stone?