Peter Poonk

No me gusta el chocolate, odio usar zapatos y los pinches huesitos del limon. El fut mi pasión, rockero de corazon, del AME y BARCA, administrador de profesión

[Peter Poonk @peterpoonk]

@_AndreCA7 Descenso

[Orel Morales @orelmorales44]

Este era Maradona en el partido homenaje a Lothar Matthaus con 39 años, la edad que tiene Messi ahora.

Lo digo por lo de la nostalgia y tal.

[Club América @ClubAmerica]

Gracias por haber defendido nuestros colores, Néstor Araujo. 🦅

¡Te deseamos mucho éxito en tus futuros proyectos! 💪

[Basem Alhabel @BAlhabel]

Some images need no words—only silence and prayer.
May God bring comfort, strength, and peace to every family suffering in Venezuela.

[Amir D @starks_arq]

This picture means something to an entire generation of Dutch people.

I'm one of them.

My parents came to Holland as Moroccan immigrants.
I was born there.

Dutch passport.
Dutch better than my Arabic.
The first 18 years of my life, Holland fed me, schooled me, raised me.

The Moroccans helped rebuild Holland.
Holland gave them roads, schools, a future in return.

Fair trade.

But we never really integrated.

That's not on one side.
That's on everyone.

We learned to speak for our grandparents, because they never got to learn the language.
We brought our food.
We brought our culture. Mosques. Books and humor.

We had fun.
We hung out.
We went to each other's weddings and loved the mix of it.

And still.
We never really became one.

The politicians made sure to categorize us.
They needed us to be outsiders, while we were busy acting like insiders.

So a wall went up between neighbors.

Then yesterday a silly game with a ball put two teams on the same grass.
Two continents.
Two cultures.

Except they're not two teams.

They're teams stitched together by the same life.

The Dutch know the Moroccans. Intimately.
The Moroccans know the Dutch. Intimately.

The Moroccans in Morocco spend every summer selling to the Moroccans from Holland.

The Dutch spend every day next to Moroccans. In School. At The local butcher. The streets.

The Moroccan team is full of Moroccans carrying Dutch passports.

The Dutch team is full of their actual friends, neighbors, and colleagues.

Such a simple game.
Such a complicated story.

When I look at this image I don't see football.

I see high school.
I see pride.
I see distance.
I don't see compassion.
I see resentment.

And that's exactly how we lived in beautiful Holland.

Together. Happily.
And quietly, unconsciously, apart.

I left when I was 18.
I went back to Morocco.

I resented Holland.
For years it was me vs them.

Now I understand what I actually have.

I can read two cultures from the inside.

And I get to choose.
What I carry with me.
What I leave behind.

Because every culture has its gold.
And every culture has its rot.

The trick is knowing which is which.

Love. Be kind to each other.