Millevolent's Instagram Audience Analytics and Demographics
Free Promotion Count
Paid Campaign Count
Get Our Influencer Rate Card Today!
A brand new way for you to compare the rates of influencers across the world.Learn More
PROFILE OVERVIEW OF MILLEVOLENT
Average engagement rate on the posts is around 3.00%. The average number of likes per post is 99 and the average number of comments is 4.
40.91% of the followers that engaged with millevolent regularly are from United States, followed by Italy at 4.55% and United Kingdom at 4.55%. In summary, the top 5 countries of millevolent's posts engager are coming from United States, Italy, United Kingdom, Japan, Australia.
Millevolent loves posting about Photography, Nature & Outdoors, Architecture.
Check millevolent's audience demography. This analytics report shows millevolent's audience demographic percentage for key statistic like number of followers, average engagement rate, topic of interests, top-5 countries, core gender and so forth.
GENDER OF ENGAGERS FOR MILLEVOLENT
AUDIENCE COUNTRIES OF MILLEVOLENT
- United States 40.91 %
- Italy 4.55 %
- United Kingdom 4.55 %
- Japan 3.41 %
- Australia 3.41 %
You were in my dream last night and conveniently enough, I only lucid dream. We were back in San Jose and eating bun bo hue again. I asked you to unblock me from Facebook, to call me every now and then, and I asked you why we only talked once. You smiled widely, I swore at you in our native TeoChew tongue, and you only waved, suddenly distant and leaving again, saying, “I miss you, Millie!” - I woke up and the cat wasn’t on my bed anymore, I missed my lecture, and I tried going back to sleep because I had something else to say, but the man had already left and the plaza was empty.
Things are starting to change again, but I’m in control of it this time. Leaving the town I grew up in is supposed to feel sentimental, but I only feel attached to the geography, not my childhood. I didn’t choose to let my innocence die here, but I am choosing to feel the grace of self-love by learning to let go. I don’t have childhood friends that I keep in touch with. The people have never been for me. Our family donut shop is gone because this city devours any beacon of light; it was the last thing keeping me here. — I am choosing to move on because a big change feels better than many little adjustments. I am choosing to let go because my heart no longer holds space for a place that never loved me. I hope this city sees itself for what it is; “City of Good Living,” isn’t quite it.
Earlier this week, someone called me a Wild Card based off of things they were told about me. First of all, when the doctors tell you you’re bipolar, then tell you have PTSD, this actual wildcard is not something I asked for. Second of all, I am not the cards I was dealt. Thirdly, how do you expect someone to behave when they have no time to grieve their losses because they have to work all the time? Lastly, what the fuck? — Today I had a conversation with someone that has known me for quite some time. They know that I am full of heart, and sometimes overrun with emotions, but they do not see me as a lesser person. These past few weeks, I felt like I was suffering from the judgment of others. These past few months, I’ve been questioning my current situation and questioning if I am compromising my true self again. I hope that soon, I wake up one of these mornings and decide that I’ve had enough and do all the things that make me happy. Until then, I need to remember that I am not a fucking wild card; I’m a person that experienced unexpected loss and after all, I am a human that deserves respect. 🎥: @dfvbio
I remember making Dole Whip on this day and having some sort of barbecue. I remember editing this photo a few months ago with more vivid memories of this time, but I can’t quite remember the finer details. I do remember loving the sprinkler in the street and I remember making spring rolls too. I don’t remember if I was happy or not, but that’s not important anymore.
“I thought you would have a good life. Your mom didn’t protect you! You needed a dad!” He said, begrudgingly. “My mom could not protect me from the choices I made. I didn’t ask to get hit until I was an adult, I didn’t ask for every rape, I didn’t ask for protection from anyone for anything that happened. Don’t blame this on my mom. She had nothing to do with this.” I watched him begin to cry. He later said this wouldn’t have happened if he was my Dad, but I told him that you cannot control men, or anyone, from choosing what they ultimately will decide to do. My mom wanted me to stay inside, lock the doors, and away from the Sun, and I always found a way to slip from her grasp, slip into bad habits, and fall from grace. — People told me that I shouldn’t start off so heavy, but I had told him what made me, Me. I told him about my friends that died, my grandma passing, the suicide attempts, the unbearable sadness, and whatever I could rip from the roots planted within my present strength. He talked about his parents dying and feeling alone in the US; how he only had his best friend and his family now. He said how lonely he felt. He kept talking about how lonely he is. I talked about the same loneliness, wishing someone was thinking about me, missing me, caring for me. — I found out a few weeks ago that Mr. Trin had blocked me on Facebook. He never answered my texts. I gave him until August 2nd, my birthday, to return; he never sent me a message. If you didn’t want to be lonely anymore, you could have looked for me. But maybe, Vo, you didn’t want me at all, or maybe your loneliness is composed of regret and shame. Maybe you should try to confront what you’re running from and find what hurts, but that’s life advice I’m giving that isn’t going to go anywhere. It was weird hearing you tell me how I should live my life. “Family is everything, it is in the blood.” Little did you know, Stitch said that “Family means no one gets left behind.” I hope as you continue to live your completely separate life from mine, you find that your advice and definitions might need a little tweaking and improvements. — See ya, dude! This is the last post for ya.
“I have a minimum wage job, I don’t have a lot.” You said this to me, with the newest iPhone in hand. Then I remembered, I was only worth $20 a month to you; together, my brother and I were worth $40. The first time we saw each other face to face was in the courthouse hallway after the last case, yours and my mom’s, was over. You ordered your Child Support payments to be lowered to $40 a month. You had worn peasant sandals and a shaggy jacket, as well as that sad look on your face. I had waited 6 hours to speak to you, waited 13 years to meet you then, and instead of bombarding you with Where-were-you’s, Why-didn’t-you’s, and How-Come-You’s, I fell silent. My mom told me to go meet you and once I looked at the Only Person In The World that looked like me, my world stopped. The hallway was nearly empty and we stood there for what felt like a moment that was only allowed once by the grace of God, to happen. I stood in awe, but I couldn’t hug you because I didn’t know you and I didn’t miss you. Did you see yourself in me, then? I wanted this moment to last, but even God couldn’t bring us together for more than a moment at a time. Time unfroze, you spoke to your lawyer, I went back to my mother. As we parted ways, you walked first and I heard the rhythm of your steps: tap, tap, tap, and then it stopped. We both turned and made eye-contact, but the world wasn’t frozen anymore and I turned away. Ten years later, here we are because I chose to find you. — We didn’t need to talk about money, but you did. Your family photos consisted of buying your wife the new iPhone, your daughter with a Louis Vuitton bag, family vacations, and enough money to buy cakes for everyone’s birthdays. I’ve been working since I was 5, and everything I own is because of my hard work. We were vulnerable at times, prideful in our dispositions, but I was honest and that set us apart. You played the Poor-Man role; I played the Fatherless one. We are not the same.
“WHY DO YOU HAVE TATTOOS?” He exclaimed. “WHY ARE YOU SO SHORT?!” I responded. And that was our introduction. In 23 years, I didn’t think this would be the first words exchanged face-to-face with my father. Prior to the initial meeting, I Googled “Questions to ask your dad,” then deleted it. I then searched up, “How to get to know your estranged father,” and scratched that too. What I wanted to understand was myself, or at least the parts of myself that didn’t align with my known, immediate family. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and expect that we would connect, but I wanted to learn who He is and I wanted him to know who I am. We spent 6 hours talking about one another, how kids are raised, how a child grows up without a father, how his parents passed, and so much more. I don’t think that I can call him my Dad because the man wasn’t there to raise me, but I’m glad I found him and that familiar voice inside my head I could finally put a face to.
“It’s not for you, it’s for me; can’t you understand that? I need this for me and you cannot make it about you anymore.” - a conversation that still hasn’t seemed to end. — Placing boundaries always feels selfish and scary, but it’s important to protect yourself. It’s important to protect your wants and needs. The pain someone else has felt cannot be controlled by you and understanding that you are really only responsible for yourself is the only way you can get what you fucking deserve.
Last month, we celebrated our 6 monthiversary by walking and conversing, catching our breaths in between intersections. We’ve spent the majority of the time we’ve known each other in conversation. I have no problem speaking my mind or expressing my opinions because I learned to value myself after all. He does just the same, but doesn’t have to use as many hand gestures. As a walking-talking unit, I hope we never shut the fuck up, but hey, I didn’t mean to let go of your hand; I just had something to say! [on another note] **Take the time to educate yourselves on Black Lives Matter, systemic racism, implicit biases, watch “I Am Not Your Negro,” “13th,” and “Gook.” Experience something different today because if it makes you uncomfortable, you must answer why it does.**
Happy Father’s day to the best dad I’ve been to myself! I’ve seen myself grow, been there for my own accomplishments, and taught myself that the person I want to be is not someone who gives up so easily. I tried to contact my dad last month and again yesterday with no resolve, but I’m not bitter. Maybe one day I’ll have a conversation with that man, but I’ve had father-figures in my life that came as friends, mentors and teachers that encouraged and supported me. So honestly, that’s more than I could have asked for! May you all feel whole no matter what may be missing in your lives and sign a petition through the link in my bio ❤️ 🎥: @rawburt.exe
Your character has always shown vulnerability and believed in dialogue. You are resilient and have always been bold. Thank you for being kind to me when I didn’t know how to be kind to myself. Thank you for being creative, inspiring me and others, and for existing. I love you like family, and your pupper too! Happy birthday, Nick ❤️
She’s really good at making you feel lovable when you think you’re not. She listens and validates your feelings and never makes it about herself. I think I heard her break into an operatic voice once. There’s something about her that makes this world feel easier to exist in, and if you knew her, you’d know what I mean. Happy Birthday, Mia! I love you and I appreciates you!
PEOPLE ALSO VIEWED
Looking for the next influencer in United States to work with?
Have you considered to work with the following influencers?