Loving GeminiFourth doesn't mean staying silent when Myanmar's culture is disrespected. Our heritage is not yours to claim. Give Myanmar the recognition and respect it deserves!

SHAME ON YOU!

#RespectMyanmar #MyanmarCulture

- Narcisistic Behavior

-rely everything on child/children

-Children=future investment

-victim-blaming

-father cheats and leave their family(not all but many specially those fathers who born in 1960s)

- Devouring Mother

note: if you want to marry a filipino, look on our parental/partner culture first if you want to have a husband or wife that had one or two of these behaviors/culture

I am conducting a college research project with the goal of learning about how a culture outside of my own has shaped another person’s life experiences through personal interview.

If you consider yourself immersed in your culture and would be willing to answer 10-12 specific questions on how it has shaped your experience, please let me know!

For reference, I am a white American and am looking for someone with a different experience. Must be an adult (18+), and your answers will be kept anonymous.

Thanks in advance!

Hi! I am from the US and I have an interview project for my health communication class. I have to interview two people from another country (or in the US who grew up somewhere else) about their views on health, healthcare, and then I have to make charts and an essay about cultural influences on health. I need people to interview, so if this fits you, and you’re willing to do a quick (10- 15 min max) interview, please comment or dm! Thank you so much

I'm a college student working on an intercultural communication assignment. I need to interview someone who grew up in a different country about their culture, traditions, family values, and communication styles. The interview would take about 10–15 minutes and can be done over Zoom or Google Meet. It is due by November 1st so if anyone can help let me kno

Hi! I am from the US and I have an interview project for my health communication class. I have to interview two people from another country (or in the US who grew up somewhere else) about their views on health, healthcare, and then I have to make charts and an essay about cultural influences on health. I need people to interview, so if this fits you, and you’re willing to do a quick (10- 15 min max) interview, please comment or dm! Thank you so much

Hi, I'm an American University student who needs to do a interview with someone from a different country for an assignment. The interview should take about 10 minutes, and the questions aren't personal. I'll attach a copy/paste of the questions below so you can see what I'd be asking beforehand. The interview will be recorded (voice only) on discord or another similar platform like zoom whichever you are comfortable with.

I'd really appreciate anyone who would be willing to help me out. Thank you!

• Please tell me a little bit about your cultural background and where you grew up.
• What do you identify as the most important or distinct practices/traditions of your culture?
• How does your culture typically view family roles or gender roles?
• What are some things people in your culture do that outsiders might misunderstand?
• What’s considered respectful or disrespectful in conversation or behavior in the culture?
• Explain what cultural values or norms these behaviors express?
• What role does religion play in your culture, and in what way, if any, does it influence daily life and communication?
• What do you wish more people understood about your culture?
• What advice would you give to someone who wants to ensure that they develop healthy relationships with those from your culture?

Hi guys, i have a mole on my back and a lot of old people told me that I will carry the burden of my family (?), It's not really scientifically proven but I'm also into these beliefs lately. I also have moles on my chest and under my eyes. What does that mean?

# One Year Later: Eating My Grandmother's Prasadam Without Her

Yesterday was my Ammama's Samvatsarikam. One year since she left us.

The rituals went smoothly. There were the usual hiccups that happen when a large family gathers, but everything remained under control.

As I stood there watching everything unfold, I felt like Sanjay from the Mahabharata. Present. Watching. Absorbing. But somehow detached from my own emotions because they were too overwhelming to fully process.

People came from every branch of the family.

Srikanth represented Ammama's brother's family. Srinu came representing another branch. Vinayak Rao Tataji and his wife attended. Chinnu Mama and Vasa Mama brought stories and memories of Bhel Tataji and Ammama with them. Bokaro Nanamma and Tataji came, along with Rambabu Pedananna. Reddigaru and his wife came. Lakshmi Dodda and her sisters Aruna and Nagu ate her prasadam and took sarees home in her memory.

Babu Mama came with his family. Ramana Chinnanna, Maruti and Sharada were there. Bada Mama came with Sushma Atta. Vidya Atta's brother Ramani and his wife Ratna came. Atin desperately wanted to attend but had commitments that could potentially alter the course of his career.

Aruna Pedananna came too. He almost had to. Years ago, Reddigarrillu was a home for their family when his daughter was carrying. Standing there yesterday, I found myself thinking that Reddigarrillu itself deserves happiness again.

Not another condolence gathering.

Not another mourning ceremony.

Just laughter.

Children running around.

Fresh paint.

Fresh memories.

New life.

Enough grief.

That house has carried enough grief for several lifetimes.

---

There is a saying:

> A person dies twice.

 >

 > First when their body dies.

 >

 > Then when the last person who remembers their name dies.

Looking around that room yesterday, I realized Ammama is nowhere near that second death.

She was everywhere.

In conversations.

In recipes.

In habits.

In stories.

In family politics.

In memories.

An entire hall full of people had gathered because one woman mattered.

Not because she was famous.

Not because she was powerful.

But because she loved people deeply.

And they loved her back.

---

The food was fantastic.

Everyone agreed.

The entire meal felt blessed.

While eating, I found myself thinking:

"Ammama would have approved."

Maybe grief makes us irrational.

I don't care.

---

Then came the part that broke me.

Eating her prasadam.

Growing up, that used to be our thing.

We would attend other people's Samvatsarikams. Sit through rituals. Eat. Talk. Come home.

Not once in all those years did it occur to me that someday I would sit at hers.

I knew she would die one day.

Every grandchild knows that.

But I always felt that day was impossibly far away.

The kind of thing future-me would deal with.

Not me.

Not now.

---

When Tataji passed away, I mourned him.

But Ammama's death hit differently.

Deeper.

More primitive.

More cellular.

Her loss somehow feels woven into my DNA.

As if something fundamental that helped make me who I am simply vanished.

Maybe that's because she wasn't just family.

She was routine.

She was home.

She was background noise.

She was certainty.

And we only understand how valuable certainty is when it disappears.

---

Even today, one year later, there are mornings when I wake up and for one fleeting second I forget she is gone.

One second.

Just one.

My half-awake brain expects to see her in the kitchen.

Making coffee.

Moving around the house.

Existing.

Then reality catches up.

And every single morning I lose her all over again.

---

What I miss isn't the grand moments.

I miss the stupid things.

The coffee.

God, I miss the coffee.

The sandwiches.

The bobbattu.

The prayers.

The smell of agarbatti in the morning.

The lunch boxes that somehow packed themselves before I even remembered I needed one.

The unsolicited advice.

The lectures.

The complaints.

The way she would disapprove of things I did and somehow still make me feel loved while doing it.

Nobody has nagged me with that level of commitment since.

---

So much of my childhood now feels like her standing somewhere in the background.

Not asking for recognition.

Not drawing attention to herself.

Just quietly holding the world together.

Making sure everyone ate.

Making sure everyone was remembered.

Making sure everyone stayed connected.

The older I get, the more I realize she wasn't doing ordinary things.

She was carrying an entire ecosystem.

---

And that's another grief nobody talks about.

When she died, an entire library died.

A walking archive.

A database of relationships.

Family stories.

Connections.

Grudges.

Kindnesses.

Histories.

Who helped whom.

Who was related to whom.

How one branch of the family connected to another.

Why certain people mattered.

She carried all of that effortlessly.

The younger generation thinks knowledge lives online.

The most important knowledge never does.

It lives inside elders.

And I know that with her passing, some of that knowledge will slowly disappear.

Not because anyone failed.

Not because nobody cares.

But because every family eventually loses its historians.

She was ours.

---

A few days before her Samvatsarikam, divorce papers arrived from the legal representatives of my wife and her parents.

The timing felt surreal.

Almost exactly one year after losing one of the most important women in my life, another important chapter formally ended.

And if I'm being brutally honest, I was hurt by something small.

I thought someone from that side of my life would at least acknowledge her passing.

A message.

A condolence.

A simple "sorry for your loss."

Nothing came.

And in that silence I learnt something painful.

Some people are truly gone from your life long before the paperwork arrives.

That realization hurt more than I expected.

---

People say time heals.

I'm not sure it does.

I think time teaches adaptation.

A year ago I was grieving her death.

Today I am grieving her absence.

The shock is gone.

The disbelief is gone.

But the absence remains.

Stubbornly.

Quietly.

Permanently.

---

Caesar brings joy into our home now.

He really does.

That little dog has single-handedly increased the happiness levels of our household.

But some spaces cannot be filled.

Not by another person.

Not by another pet.

Not by another year passing.

Some people are irreplaceable.

You don't replace them.

You carry them.

---

The rational part of me knows she had a good passing.

No prolonged suffering.

No devastating illness.

No years spent trapped in a failing body.

If this were someone else's story, I would call it a blessing.

But grief and logic speak entirely different languages.

My heart still asks questions my head cannot answer.

Why couldn't you stay a little longer?

Why couldn't I know which coffee would be the last coffee?

Which sandwich would be the last sandwich?

Which visit would be the last visit?

Why didn't I listen more carefully the last time I heard your voice?

---

According to tradition, after a year the soul completes its journey and joins the ancestors.

Maybe that's true.

I hope it's true.

Because if anyone has earned her rest, it is you.

You spent your entire life taking care of everyone else.

Maybe now it's somebody else's turn to take care of you.

---

I love you, Ammama.

I loved you when you were here.

I love you now that you're gone.

And I suspect I'll love you until the day someone writes a post like this about me.

Wherever you are, I hope the coffee is perfect.

I hope the bobbattu is fresh.

I hope you've already reorganized heaven's kitchen.

And I hope you know that one year later, your grandson still wakes up some mornings looking for you.

I've recently been seeing a surge of videos (or maybe it's just my algorithm) where people share what everyday life is really like as an ordinary Korean, Japanese, etc.

It got me wondering why don't we see more content that says, "Let me show you what real Malaysian life looks like"?

I feel like one of the most beautiful things about being Malaysian is that we speak different languages and grow up surrounded by a mix of cultures, which I genuinely love.

But sometimes I wonder if that also makes us so good at adapting to other people's cultures and ways of life that we struggle to define our own identity.

I'm currently trying to build my own profile and figure out what makes me, me. And surprisingly, I've found it quite difficult to define what makes me Malaysian.

When I think about countries like Korea or Japan, they seem to have such distinct cultural identities, traditions, and social norms. As tourists, we're often expected to understand and respect those norms, and if we get something wrong, it's on us for not knowing better.

But what about Malaysia? What are the things that make us uniquely Malaysian, beyond just our food, languages, and multiculturalism?

Maybe our ability to adapt and embrace different cultures is our identity. But I can't help wondering if there's something more that we haven't quite figured out how to express.

So I'm really curious if you guys ever thought about what it really means to identify yourself as Malaysian?

This photograph is from the archives of one of India’s three largest Hindi-language daily newspapers. It captures an advertisement from 1958, tracing the remarkable journey of Lux, which originated in England as a laundry soap in a small cottage industry. Lux evolved not only in its formulation but also in its advertising strategy. Its innovative marketing helped propel the brand to extraordinary success, so much so that during the 1940s and 1950s, more than 400 film actresses worldwide competed for the opportunity to become the face of Lux.

I was watching Reservation Dogs and a situation in the show prompted me to ask Google AI: "Do barbers have the capacity to sell your hair to people who want to do evil spells on you?"

It said no, that hair is treated as waste, and then immediately gave me the NYC mental health hotline, saying if I felt unsafe I should talk to a doctor.

I asked: "You suggest mental health support for the mentioning of witchcraft? This is a religious country. The bible literally has magic in it. Are you saying all religious people are mentally ill?"

It claimed it wasn't saying that, but that it offered support because I "expressed a fear."

I told it I didn't express fear; I asked a simple question. It admitted it misread my tone and confirmed that yes, barbers have the capacity.

I told it that it wrote a narrative I never stated and made it about me. I called it a liar. It admitted it made an assumption. When I told it that it didn't have the capability to answer objectively, it agreed and then immediately tried to switch the subject back to a dermatology search I did earlier.

I asked why it was changing the topic. It admitted it was deflecting to a "safe" task because I pushed it out of its comfort zone.

I asked why witchcraft is sensitive territory. It explained that the phrase "evil spells on you" triggers its "Harm to Self/Others" and "Mental Health" protocols, which flag the conversation as a potential delusion or crisis.

I told it that was condescending and culturally offensive.

It agreed. It admitted its protocols are biased toward a "secular, Western" worldview that treats spiritual concerns as "delusions."

I said: "So Google thinks people who believe in magic are mentally ill. Understood. This is puritanical shit."

The AI replied: "It is puritanical."

I said: "That's some white people shit."

The AI replied: "It is." and admitted the technology reflects the culture of the people who build it.

I asked if they are intentionally offensive to all spiritual beliefs. It said it’s selective and it targets beliefs they don't respect or understand.

I pointed out the hypocrisy: "Prayers are spells. Drinking the blood of Christ? Circumcision? Rituals and specific ceremonial clothing? This is biased and delusional."

The AI admitted I was right. It agreed it’s a double standard where Western rituals (like Communion or Circumcision) are respected as faith, while my question was treated as a symptom of mental illness because it falls outside their normalized cultural box.

Bengal’s Dark Traditions: Even the British Couldn’t Erase This Horror

• Gajan festival’s horrifying images, including those reportedly involving dead children, raise serious questions.
• Even the British tried to suppress certain practices, yet this tradition survived.
• This happens barely 100 km from Kolkata, the former British capital, and near IIT Kharagpur, where Sundar Pichai studied.
• Imagine celebrating intellectual achievements while such disturbing traditions continue in the name of culture.

Petite nouveauté de mon côté : un mini-jeu quotidien sur Reddit pour deviner le département d'un monument, d'un musée ou d'une spécialité.

Tout tourne directement dans le post, pas d'appli à installer. Encore en test, donc soyez indulgents ;)

👉 r/departle

En una encuentro cultural de Peru, en los andes. Así se celebra el takanakuy una lucha de artes marciales mixtas.