sonia | Entries tagged with word of the year

Confessions of a ‘passenger princess,’ traveling Pittsburgh without a car by Emma Riva.

Taking the bus might not feel as sexy as driving a Mustang, but this is the role of the passenger princess: to romanticize the blue glow of the late-night buses; to celebrate the serendipitous conversations with poets, former MMA fighters and sommeliers doubling as rideshare drivers; to enjoy the intimacy and trust of a loved one driving you somewhere you need to go. Let’s keep the city yours and mine.

My parents gave me their older car when I was a senior in college, and later I bought one new, both small hatchbacks with few fancy features. I already biked around town a lot and arranged my life so I didn't have to commute by car. After a crash in September 2002 totaled my little blue hatchback, I decided I didn't want another car.

Over the last 23 years as cars have gotten bigger and more complicated and more invasive of privacy, I'm only confirmed in not wanting one.

I use public transit sometimes, and I get rides from friends sometimes, but mostly I get around on foot and by bike. Even in a place with good transit by US standards, it's still infrequent enough and unreliable enough to be a huge hassle. I'd rather be out in the cold and the rain on my bike than standing waiting for a bus.

Someone asked me recently how cold it has to get to stop me from riding. The answer is, cold won't really do it in the places I've lived. In Portland I had good enough gear to ride when it was 25 or 30 degrees. In the Bay Area it just won't get cold enough. Ice and snow stop me, and wind strong enough to blow me into the opposing lane.

I hope I can continue being car-free for a good long time to come. I love being out in the weather, breathing the air, saying hello to other cyclists, and being graciously allowed to cross big streets by drivers. I have a bike trailer to haul big items, and a bike pannier to haul groceries or sheet music or whatever else I need.

I had my first-ever personal training session yesterday. It went well! There's a gym one block from me that I've had my eye on ever since it quit being a Crossfit gym and went independent. I was dubious about exercising in an indoor space, but a friend pointed out that their big open warehouse door means that they have a lot better ventilation than most gyms.

I finally got in touch with them, and after some logistical hassles, I had my appointment with a tall, kind, strong young woman. She seemed easy in her body, and calmly gave me instructions and feedback in a way that felt welcoming and safe. I said I wanted it to be gentle and gradual because my body tends toward strains and injury, and she gave me exactly what I asked for. We focused on upper body, and did rows with hanging rings and bench presses with free weights and some pushups at a 45 degree angle because I can't quite do them lowering to bench height. It lasted an hour and I thought I would be sore today. I'm mildly achy, enough to tell me I did something, but not too bad.

I never thought I'd be the kind of person to lift weights or have a personal trainer. I liked being strong when I was moving house, and I'd like to get stronger again without having to pack up everything I own. And if I'm going to do that, I need some personal help to learn how to do it properly. They have some strength classes that I'm hoping to join once I understand the basic movements and how to do them safely for me. And I have some weights at home that I might be able to use in between.

I never had private lessons in anything as a kid. It was a big step for me to start taking singing lessons a few years back, and that has been wonderfully healing, as well as improving my singing over time. Getting some personal training sessions feels like self-love, permission to pay for the help I need instead of trying to tough it out on my own.

I biked over Grizzly Peak this morning, in November sunshine so warm that I didn't even need my jacket for the usually-cold final descent into Claremont canyon. While Berkeley bathed in glorious sunshine, the Bay hid under a blanket of fog with the Golden Gate Bridge towers and San Francisco skyscrapers peeking out. I love the experience of climbing steadily past cute North Berkeley houses and gardens, with these spectacular views off to the side.

From the top, you can see a panoramic view of the Bay and surrounding cities spread out at your feet. By the time I got there, most of the fog had burned off, just clinging in a line along the Bay Bridge.

I never stopped missing that ride during my years in Portland. I haven't done it in more than a year because of my ankle injury, so I was very happy to be back on that road and still comfortably make it up and over.

Last night I biked across town to a concert of the Iavnana Ensemble, a community choir of 40 local people dedicated enough to learn and perform Georgian songs, plus their teacher and a visiting singer who is one of the foremost American singers of Georgian music. And he's giving a workshop tomorrow for the general public, so I'm going to that.

Earlier this week, Zele, the Balkan and Georgian community choir I'm in, sang four songs as part of a concert and grief ritual for people who have lost loved ones. As I walked over to the venue, and then later walked home, I thought, "This is why I came back."

Last week visiting Ukrainian ensemble Kurbasy performed with Kitka, and then they gave a workshop.

I came back for the amazing performers who come to town, for the workshops and singing groups I can participate in, and for the spectacular bike rides and scenery. I miss the vibrant fall colors of Portland, and it's fun to visit friends there now and again, but I am very glad I came back to the Bay Area.

A friend responded to me with uncharacteristic and intense anger a couple of days ago and I don't know why (yet). While I'm waiting on more information, I've been thinking about other times I've faced intense anger.

I don't remember many. One time, I was exhausted and needed to leave, and a friend said if I left, the friendship was over. I thought we would work it out after getting a chance to rest, but despite several attempts, he stuck to the friendship being over.

Another time, a friend was angry that I couldn't continue in a painful situation. Despite attempts to talk about it, that friendship eventually ended too.

I remember being angry as romantic relationships deteriorated, but I don't remember partners communicating anger and working it through. Or responding well to my attempts to communicate anger and work it through. Which is why I'm not in any of those relationships anymore.

I have a felt sense of quicksand in relationships (of any sort). Like, "oops, this ground has gotten treacherous, time to back up." Looking back, I think that's been when people are angry. But they don't say, "I'm angry at you for X and want things to be different going forward." They emotionally withdraw, and eventually cut things off. Sometimes it's been when I felt safe enough to express a boundary of my own, and found out that wasn't safe after all.

I suppose the most... not positive, exactly, but open experiences of anger were as a bodywork practitioner. If a client got angry, I held space and listened and responded as best I could. But that's a different dynamic than relationships out in the world. I do have the basic tools of active listening and trying to stay grounded.

I'm not feeling super hopeful about the current situation. Do you have stories or resources about successfully working through anger?

ETA: I wrote a short apologetic, puzzled email and got back that it's all good, just an intense and exhausting week. Whew. I mean, I got blasted with *something*, but good to know it wasn't about me and therefore no longer my problem.

I just learned that the city motto of Oakland is Oakland Love Life, as described on the city's website.

Love Life Acknowledgement (Abridged Version)

We acknowledge that in service to our beloved city of Oakland, and all its citizens, adhering to the city of Oakland's official motto, "Oakland Love Life" we enter into this space committed to embody love as our guiding principle.

We acknowledge Love Life as our motto as we denounce violence in all forms and the conditions that create it.

We acknowledge that when we demonstrate love, we also exhibit respect and kindness towards each other.

We commit to acts of love as an intentional force to generate tangible solutions, in regards to all of our actions.

We recognize as leaders, we must set an example and precedent for those in community who have entrusted us with these duties.

We welcome and appreciate all contributions to this space, and even when expressing disagreement, we request that we lead with love in your heart.

We seek to find common ground, and tangible solutions that demonstrate love for our city, its residents, and all constituents.

We acknowledge that when we lead with love we are able to uplift a thriving city rooted in equity, equality, justice, inclusion, and opportunity for all.

We commit to the action of "Love Life" as our motto and mantra.

Love Life Acknowledgement (long version) PDF.

I'm glad that Oakland is a Sanctuary City, and California is a Sanctuary State. I'm glad that Barbara Lee is Oakland's mayor, with her experience in national politics.

For Strong Women by Marge Piercy via

musesfool. Posting it because it made me cry when it started talking about love, it rang so true for me. I had read it before, but I don't remember it landing the way it did today.

A strong woman is a woman who is straining
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing "Boris Godunov."
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn't mind crying, it opens
the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.
A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren't you feminine, why aren't
you soft, why aren't you quiet, why aren't you dead?
A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.
Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you're so strong.
A strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. A strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
every battle a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.
A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.
What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make
each other. Until we are all strong together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

Crisis Planning: The Hit-By-A-Bus Plan by

lb_lee.

The hit-by-a-bus plan is for when you are suddenly unable to perform your usual duties or communicate the need to get them done to others—such as when you are suddenly committed to a mental hospital, kidnapped, or hit by a bus and put in a coma. The plan is especially for people without spouse or families. Getting hit by a bus may be unavoidable, but less so is getting fired (or a pet dying) because you aren’t there and nobody knows what happened or what to do. It has two components: prep work for yourself (for psychological crisis), and stuff for helpers to do on your behalf afterward (general purpose).

This is a great post. I find it overwhelming to try to set all of this up at once. I might take small steps, like giving my immediate neighbors an emergency contact's phone number.

For those of us who have pets, having a pet sitter who already knows the situation and can get in if needed is useful in an unexpected absence.

Declaration of Interdependence by

queerspacepunk (aka

emmett) via

jesse_the_k. I love this vision of easy interconnectedness, although a followup post brings up the need for clear communication and respect for boundaries as well.

I recently went through, "Where the heck is my neighbor and how do I make sure his cat gets fed." (All ended well, thank goodness.) While it might feel vulnerable to share information and ask for help, it's a kindness rather than an imposition to the surrounding community in case of unexpected emergencies.

The Four Sisters Overlooking the Sea by Naomi Kritzer. A satisfying story about a geeky family staying in a tiny town on the Massachusetts coast. Sometimes things turn out okay in the end, although it can take a long, difficult time to get there.

We Begin Where Infinity Ends by Somto Thezue. Three scientifically inclined teens, their friendship, and their tinkering to save the fireflies.

Both of these stories are also about love and belonging.

In response to

asakiyume's post about finding a creepy site in the woods, I said:
I believe you about the site you found. The day after the knifings at the Hollywood MAX station in Portland, OR in 2017, I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market, and felt an unfamiliar silent ringing of tension in the air. Then I remembered what had happened just a block away. I wonder if you found the young man's camp, but he died elsewhere?

You're right, odd that no one has cleaned that up. If it felt right, you could choose to do that... At the Hollywood Transit Center, Sarah Farahat (the sister of a friend) painted a beautiful tribute on the stairs and ramp to get to the station.

And then, in response to comments:
Watching the video about the creation of the mural now made me cry, too.

The mural is a powerful piece of art for sure. Not just a commemoration - it keeps the sense of sacred space that was created with the spontaneous altar of offerings from the community in the days after the attack. Here's a photo of part of it via Wikipedia, but it stretched for half a block.

Sadly, in looking for photos of the original memorial, I found an article that sounds like they destroyed the mural, suddenly dubbed "temporary," a year ago. Augh.
------

I've been thinking about my word of the year, Love. It's such a huge, complex, amorphous topic. I'm struggling to carve out smaller things I can post that don't feel painfully cliched or too vulnerable or both at once.

But I can say, I love that mural. It was a 15 minute bike ride away from where I lived, not my closest MAX station, but always a pleasure to go up that gloriously painted ramp with my bike when I did go through there.

It felt like sacred space, like a communal affirmation of love, joy, inclusion, all the things we need for healing and creating a better world. I was sad to leave it behind when I left Portland, and I'm bereft to hear it has been destroyed. Love and grief are so intertwined.

ETA: I thought about it more and changed devastated to bereft. They both feel like intense words to apply to a mural in a city I don't live in anymore, but it's also entwined with everything else that's going on politically, socially, environmentally, and both words definitely apply to all that.

My word of the year this year was Pride. Like my journey with Trust last year, I got better acquainted with (healthy) pride and how it feels in my body. I can be proud of myself and my accomplishments without being in competition with anyone else, and without judging anyone else. It feels like I've reclaimed something that comes naturally to young children, "Look what I did!" and that feels healing. Pride seems to be both an emotion and a skill, and even a thing in itself, as in, abruptly losing my job earlier this year hurt my pride.

Posting something I'm proud of every day for Pride Month turned out to be surprisingly fun. I recommend it!

And maybe I'll keep that permission to post things I'm proud of. One last one for 2024 - I'm proud of keeping my commitment to post every day in December, even when it felt like a strain.

My word for 2025 is Love. I chose Pride as a counterweight to feeling a lot of shame. While it's good to notice what I'm proud of as well as what I'm ashamed of, I noticed during the year that pride isn't an antidote to shame - love is. When I'm flinching about something in the past that brings shame, it helps to send love back to that younger self. I'm noticing that some of the shame comes from perfectionism, since it feels like any mistake is terrible.

It feels vulnerable to choose Love as a word to focus on and talk about. Of course I want all sorts of love in my life, to give and receive, and it sounds wonderful to bring in more love and overall get to know it better. And a positive romantic relationship would be nice if that were to happen... While love feels like an antidote to shame, there's also a lot of shame in doing it wrong, loving too much or not enough or the wrong way or the wrong people.

Once again I am committing to going gently and slowly with this one.

( full word of the year list )

I sang in a Balkan choir concert last night and it went well! I am proud of being brave and showing up, and also of practicing and preparing. When I'm not biking and dancing I have more time to sing. I linked to some of the songs earlier.

Then this morning at work, I presented a document I've been writing at the every two weeks' Demo Day. The document was a technical deep dive on the options to get two different systems to talk to each other, and I presented it at a high level. To my surprise, I got all sorts of kudos for moving the project forward, presenting it in an understandable way, and collaborating with my teammates.

And being thorough. That one made me flinch a bit, because it was used as a negative at my last job. But these folks seem to mean it in a positive way. I hope. I'm just doing the messy unwieldy research that needs to be done in preparation for actually doing the programming work, and maybe that's actually being appreciated.

This afternoon, a friend stopped by to pick up some more boxes and bubble wrap for her impending move, and she brought me a cute glass vase with flowers and said she appreciates my friendship. Again I was surprised and felt like I hadn't done anything special. But it's nice to be appreciated!

There's a part of me that worries about not understanding the rules, when results are more positive than I expect. I guess I can take a breath and enjoy the positive and hope I don't trip over any hidden landmines.

I went to a friend's band concert last night. The band members are deeply connected as well as amazing musicians, and it's always fun to watch them interacting as they time things just right and appreciate each other's solos. This time, my friend's 25 year old son sat in with them playing guitar. As they got into the first song, she looked over at him, radiating love and pride.

She kept smiling over her accordion as the song continued, joy spilling out of her. I thought a kid being someone's "pride and joy" just meant they were important, that they like them. I've never understood the full-body intensity of it.

For sure my parents never looked at me that way. Maybe sometimes I was a credit to the family, which means I made them look good. Mostly I was an inconvenience or a disappointment or a thing to be used or ignored.

I'm happy for the son. The whole family turned out, and I'm sure his brother and dad were beaming at him too. I wonder what it's like to grow up surrounded in love like that, like a fish in water. I wonder what it's like for my friend, co-creating and inhabiting such a loving family. As a friend, I receive and treasure some of that warmth.

The whole band is like that. The drummer gave the son a warm smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up after his guitar solo. Oh, so that's how people learn to like performing, when they're received like that.

Relatedly,

mrissa posted her stories published this year, and On the Water Its Crystal Teeth was new to me, and just the right thing to read after last night's concert.

Over the past year, I've gradually come to own that I'm neurodivergent. It's a small shift in perspective from "sensitive" and "detail oriented" and feeling slightly askew from society to, "oh, all those things fit under this one label."

I'm proud of making that shift in perspective. I'm not sure I can say I'm proud of neurodivergence itself. There's more of a flinchy sense of doing it wrong associated with it.

Lately, a couple of old friends have gently included me under the neurodivergent umbrella in conversation, as an aside of, "we both know this probably applies..." In a way it's a relief to be seen that way, as normal for my own frame of reference.

I have a cousin who is formally diagnosed as autistic. He lives in a special community where he receives the assistance he needs to be semi-independent as an adult. When I look around at the rest of my family, there sure are a lot of socially awkward geeks, possibly above and beyond the expected traits of Ashkenazi Jews.

I took an online diagnostic questionnaire for autism in women a few years ago, and didn't score high enough to make the cutoff. I hesitate to claim that more specific label, although I do wonder if I'm just really good at masking. It's hard to untangle what's innate from what's caused by trauma and head injuries.

It also makes me wonder if I was a difficult kid, which is a big shift from looking at my parents' inadequacies. Now that I'm writing this, though, I think I needed some help and accommodations I didn't get around socializing, and my parents didn't have those things to give. But overall I was a pretty good kid.

silveradept has been writing about Twice Exceptional, and I think there was (is) some of that going on.

I feel like having Pride as a Word of the Year has opened the way for this shift. When I allow myself to own and be proud of my strengths, I can more clearly see the patterns behind them.

I've been singing with a Balkan community choir for the last couple of years. Sadly, one of the founding singers died of cancer a few weeks ago. At our recent end-of-session concert, we sang Heyamoli, one of her favorite songs, in her honor.

Her memorial service was yesterday over in Marin. I wasn't going to go, since it was during the work day and I'd have to find a ride. But they invited the choir to sing Heyamoli for her, and I wanted to support the effort, so I asked for 4 hours of bereavement leave at work, and asked choir members for a ride.

I'm glad I went! The memorial was at beautiful Fernwood Cemetery, and was filled with music, poetry, and heartfelt remembrances. Remembering Susan Fetcho at Radix Magazine has some of the same songs and stories.

I'm proud that I set aside time to go, and I'm proud of performing. It's not something that comes easily for me, although I didn't feel as much anticipatory panic as I have in the past. It's a song I've sung a lot, so instead of looking at the sheet music, I looked out at the chapel full of people gathered to grieve and sing and celebrate Susan's life, and sang for them.

( Music links )

Alok Vaid-Menon is a wonderful, kaleidoscopically colorful person. Their serene self-acceptance is a pleasure to watch and listen to, and also they're gorgeous. Via

radiantfracture.

Watch on YouTube

30. I'm proud of going through with this idea of posting something I'm proud of for 30 days. I didn't miss a day! I didn't run out of things to post! It's fun to have permission to "boast," which is something I was told never to do around age 6. And I'm delighted that you folks commented and enjoyed the posts too.

I noticed as I went along that I was separating pride from arrogance and from judgment of others. Finding a pride that’s a feeling inside rather than a competition. I can be proud of something I was born with and proud of something I work hard at (usually both at once) and it doesn’t have to mean anything about anyone else. But I sure learned that lesson young about staying small to keep other people from feeling uncomfortable.

It's good to have had five and a half decades to accumulate habits and accomplishments to be proud of. I've always thought of pride as external, something I have to earn from someone else. Little kids get told that someone is proud of them, rather than being taught to be proud of themselves.

It turns out that healthy pride is simpler than I thought, once it's separated from all those other things. I like some things about myself, and some things I've done, and that's allowed.

29. I'm proud of trying to learn and grow and be a better person. My explorations with a word of the year are part of that, for 15 years now. I'm proud of slowly accreting habits that work for me, and continuing with them long-term. I'm also proud of checking occasionally if something still works for me, and stopping if it doesn't.

I'm proud of listening to my body about what does and doesn't work for me, rather than taking other people's word for it. I'm also proud of considering advice, and trying it on to see if it fits.

Wait, having words of the year for 15 years means I've had this dreamwidth account for that long too! I'm proud of that too, reaching out to you folks and being part of this community in an ongoing way with my writing and reading.

28. I cast my mind back for older accomplishments I'm still proud of. I'm proud of having ridden my bike from San Francisco to LA in seven days as part of the California AIDSRide in 2000.

It was a huge stretch to train for that and then do it. Well outside my comfort zone, almost to scary/terrifying rather than scary/challenging, except nothing went wrong. It included riding 100 miles one day, and there was 100 mile training ride too. I'm definitely not having fun any more after that many miles, so I haven't ridden that far in one day since.

I'm glad I did it. Every pastoral mile of California is gorgeous, and the little towns we went through with cheering onlookers are beautiful in their own way. I got to ride down the shoulder of 101 in southern California, heading into Solvang or Santa Barbara. I rode all over the Bay Area doing training rides, and got to know parts of it that I probably wouldn't have ridden in otherwise.

I'm not sure I'll ever do something like that again, although I think wistfully about bike touring sometimes. It would be harder now, needing to eat gluten-free when most of what they serve bicyclists is pasta. Perhaps I'll look into a gentler tour someday.

The AIDSRide is a fundraiser and I did raise the required funds, but it came out that year that most of the funds supported the AIDSRide itself rather than going to help people with AIDS, so that was the last one. Now there's a similar program called AIDS LifeCycle that is hopefully run better, but I haven't looked into it.

More generally, I'm proud of being an active person. It's partly how my body is, needing movement, and partly arranging my life so that I get lots of it.

27. I'm proud of being a flexible friend.

This past weekend, a friend and I planned to go to a solstice event, but it was sold out, so we planned to go for a walk, but then she asked for a raincheck because of logistics when a close friend of the family died recently. Of course, I'll catch her later!

Saturday I had plans with a friend to go for a bike ride, and he called to say he had slept badly and could go several hours later, or would need to cancel. I didn't have other plans, so we had a nice ride starting later in the afternoon.

Sunday I had plans for a walk with another friend, but she texted to cancel not long before because it was her husband's birthday and he decided he wanted to go for a hike instead of out to dinner. I texted back 'ok' and left it at that. That one was painful, being reminded that I don't rate in comparison to family, but there's no point in fighting about it.

In general, I try to make room for people to live their lives and have crises and change their minds or be too tired, and enjoy when I do get to see them. I also try not to flake on people, but I appreciate being given flexibility in return when I need it. I'm sure I've benefitted from people's spaciousness when I didn't even realize I needed it.

26. I'm proud of being multilingual.
I grew up speaking Spanish because my parents grew up in Chile and insisted on speaking Spanish in the house. It was a pain at the time, but like they always said I would, I appreciate it now.
I took French for five and a half years in school.
I studied some German in summer school and picked it up from my grandparents and other relatives.
I took a year and a half of Hebrew in college and picked it up from visiting relatives. I can only kind of read the print alphabet because we didn't go to synagogue when I was a kid, and we used the script alphabet in the classes.
I have learned bits of Bulgarian and related Slavic languages from singing that music. I am very proud of reading Cyrillic after studying with the Before You Know It (BYKI) program, sadly left behind on a very obsolete version of Windows.
I have a smattering of Georgian vocabulary from singing that music, and can sort of read their curly alphabet. I would totally run through the BYKI program to refresh my knowledge if it still ran on my computer. I bought a beginning Georgian book years ago, but so far haven't had the motivation to sit down and study with it. ETA I wistfully searched on 'learn the Georgian alphabet', and found a website that teaches it! /ETA

When I'm trying to remember a word in one language, sometimes it comes up in other languages instead. I have the image of rummaging through a big trunk, pulling out colorful filmy scarves and tossing them aside while I keep looking. "It's in here somewhere!"

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Sonia Connolly

TraumaHealed.com

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Sonia Connolly

Entries tagged with word of the year

Link: Car-free in Pittsburgh

Wanting to get strong

This is why I came back! And this! And this!

Working through anger

Oakland Love Life

Poem: For Strong Women

Mutual aid, living alone edition

Stories! with geeky characters

The Hollywood Transit Center tribute mural

Word of the Year: Pride

Appreciated!

Joy and pride

Proud around neurodivergence

Goodbye to a choir mate, Susan Fetcho

video: Healthy Pride in action

Happy Pride Month, day 30, finis

Happy Pride Month, day 29, growing

Happy Pride Month, day 28, AIDSRide

Happy Pride Month, day 27, flexible

Happy Pride Month, day 26, languages