Here’s to the people who weren’t abused by their parents, but whose parents sucked anyways. Here’s to people whose parents fucked up raising you out of ignorance and not malice. Here’s to the kids whose parents didn’t know what to do with you so they did nothing at all. Here’s to people whose parents are getting better and growing as people but still hurt you. Here’s to every mean comment that wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t come from your mom; here’s to awkward family dinners because you’re all trying to forget;
here’s to you, survivor of a thousand ‘not as bad as it could have been’ hurts. I see you. You aren’t alone.
I also sobbed when I saw barbie appreciating an old woman, sitting beside her on the bench, because that’s what a woman is and that’s what being human is, and that’s what life is and she saw imperfection and age and realized it was beautiful.
She was so scared of being imperfect and having cellulite and aging and dying, and then she saw how beautiful all of those things could be, and she cried, and I cried.
And personally? To be in the tickets booth, and see young girls, teenagers, adult women, coming in to see Barbie,
the most highlighter pink outfits, some of them coming in with the dolls they’re dressed as, laughing to each other, cheering for each other,
to see the men they’re coming to see it with, dressed in pink, cheering them on, taking their pictures with smiles and cheers in the lobby at the photo op
touches something so deep in me
I can’t say any nuances of the movie that haven’t already been said, but like, fuck man, love is so deep and so kind and to be able to see glimpses of it from behind my little ticket desk makes me a little less nihilistic.
