Wednesday August 19th, 2009 12:43 am
So I plan on going to sleep eventually because I have something important to try and accomplish later in the day. I’ve been in a significant amount of pain that is most likely cause by a choice that I made, willingly, and I need to find out if that is true and how to end it. I’m not that nervous because if it is what I think it is, it is easily treatable. I will just be mad at myself for the choices I have made, whether under the influence or above it. Thankfully, due to the cultural changes in history concerning women and women’s needs, there are many resources out there I can use; especially being completely broke at this point. When you have $2 to your name, you look for anything that has “FREE” in the title. I really hope I get some answers tomorrow.
I don’t know why, but I can talk about racism and how it has affected my life for a really long time (in moderation). I’d like to think this is part of what makes me a feminist. This past Sunday, I was hanging out with some friends that I seldom see. Someone who I have never met before made a racist comment. Mind you, this is in Westport, Connecticut. All these people are perceived white and many of them are probably rich. His comment isn’t important but I heard it and didn’t say anything. I wanted to kick myself in the crotch. If I didn’t care, then WHY THE FUCK AM I WRITING THIS BULLSHIT!? Eventually, the “white man” said something. When I say eventually, I mean a breath after this kid made the comment. I love that “white” guy. <3 (There are quotations around white because he’s not just another white guy and he should never let that identity define him. I’m just drawing a picture in your mind to make my point. Also, I’m trying not to use names I know will be mentioned often. I shouldn’t be heavily exposing people without their permission. I know I would want to know anything going on in the internet about me.) The kid’s excuse was that he grew up in a white town which means he has the right to be racist. Talk about the biggest mouthful of human waste ever?? I have no reason to believe any of the other people there are racist so clearly his excuse was just his way of saying “I’m an uneducated prick who has never been out into the real world and doesn’t know any legitimate brothahs and sistah because I don’t like to travel outside of Westport.” Now of course, none of this could be true about him. This is just me thinking; being raw and opinionated. Anyways, after he gave his excuse, the “white man” looks at me of course and I say “that’s why we go to school” which was only directed towards him. I didn’t project so the kid could hear it but I’m sure he did. Mind you, we’re outside and I’m probably 2 meters away from this kid, at the most. Then, because he is THE MAN, the “white man” says “Well that’s my best friend (points to me) so yeah, I’m not cool with that.” I don’t think that last part about him not being cool with it was exactly what he said but it doesn’t matter. The point is I heard what he said; I heard it loud and clear and I didn’t become one pissed off chica. So I’m not RIGHT next to him and it doesn’t seem like I’m REALLY in the conversation but I am listening because the comment he was responding to seemed like something that was directed towards the circle. (Now I have to tell it!) A female, who had just come back from an overseas vacation, said, “I had an old man helps me with my bags,” or something along those lines. This kid replies with “That’s what the black men are for.” Now, I don’t identify as black, nor do I identify as a man (which totally doesn’t fucking matter when it comes to oppressive comments); but, in the words of GLSEN, “Ouch.” I highly doubt he knows what “oops, ouch, educate” is but, I digress. In about 5 seconds or so, I made the conclusion that he was implying that black people are supposed to be doing manual labor for the white people. Hello, because this isn’t 2009 or anything and we don’t have a president of mixed races or anything. How do you get away with saying shit like that? Not happening around me, buddy! Mhoo hoo haa haa haa. So afterwards, I made it seem like I didn’t care because I hear it all the time so I just brush it off my shoulder. I have a bad habit of not saying anything when people make racist remarks. I make no sense. I write about how this shit is ruling my life and yet I do nothing about it. I’m not helping to end this shit with my words like I should be. “Your voice is the most powerful tool in erasing hate,” –Judy Shepard. I need to start stepping up. This is probably the number one thing I want to change about myself when I go into college. In terms of making myself a new identity, I’m going to be known for having the equality attitude. Even if some people don’t want to hang out with me because of it, which happened in high school, I won’t give a flying fuck. I’ll just hang out with the teachers like I always have. I’ve always had a problem with getting my true feelings out which is why I started writing and made a blog. When I get to college, I want all of that to change. This is important for me and my growth as an adult. I’m sick and fucking tired of holding back. Watch out, fuckers. Here I come.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Coming Clean
August 4th, 2009
I wonder if I think too much for a 17 year old. This blog probably proves that I do. I want to thank anyone has read any of this first of all.
There is this song by Green Day (I’ve been listening to them a lot lately) that I’ve known for a long time but means something more to me now than it did a couple years ago because I am listening to it and I am actually 17. It really does say it all.
Seventeen and strung out on confusionTrapped inside a roll of disillusionI found out what it takes to be a manWell, Mom and Dad will never understandSecrets collecting dust but never forgetSKELETONS come to LIFE in my closetI found out what it takes to be a manWell, Mom and Dad will never understandWHAT'S HAPPENING TO MESeventeen and COMING CLEAN for the first timeI finally figured out myself for the first timeI found out what it takes to be a manMom and Dad will never understandWHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME
I’m finally going away to college, a year early no less. I thought this would take so much longer to happen. Wow. I hope it shows to all be worth it.
I wonder if I think too much for a 17 year old. This blog probably proves that I do. I want to thank anyone has read any of this first of all.
There is this song by Green Day (I’ve been listening to them a lot lately) that I’ve known for a long time but means something more to me now than it did a couple years ago because I am listening to it and I am actually 17. It really does say it all.
Seventeen and strung out on confusionTrapped inside a roll of disillusionI found out what it takes to be a manWell, Mom and Dad will never understandSecrets collecting dust but never forgetSKELETONS come to LIFE in my closetI found out what it takes to be a manWell, Mom and Dad will never understandWHAT'S HAPPENING TO MESeventeen and COMING CLEAN for the first timeI finally figured out myself for the first timeI found out what it takes to be a manMom and Dad will never understandWHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME
I’m finally going away to college, a year early no less. I thought this would take so much longer to happen. Wow. I hope it shows to all be worth it.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Best Friends Rock
August 1st, 2009
I have a migraine. “Laundry is the only thing that should be separated by color.”-Unknown. This is a nice way to put it. I’m looking up quotes online. “Racism, in the first place, is a weapon used by the wealthy to increase the profits they bring in by paying Black workers less for their work.” –Angela Davis. These are all well put. I am going to try to make my own quote that is clever and that makes you think. Question: Why is it that when a white person has a not white person as a best friend, it’s cool but when a person of color has a white person as a best friend, it’s almost expected and accepted as something that is a good thing? My whole life, my best friends were white. My doctors were white. My teachers were white. My best friend told me once that people have said how it’s cool that I’m his best friend, me being someone who isn’t white. Is it cool because he is giving me something by being a white male? Am I automatically needy because I am American-Dominican? Should I be thankful that he chose me? I really don’t get it. No one has ever patted me on the back for having a white friend and no one probably will. I feel like everything is decided mutually with us. I guess there are people out there that expect something different.
When I was younger, I was convinced that I wanted to be white. It was my deepest secret. I was embarrassed. I really hated the color of my skin and everything that came with it. I was ashamed to hate it. Of course, I didn’t understand why I hated it, but I was uneducated about these things back then. My best friends at the time had a family that wasn’t too different from mine. The home was big enough, dinner together or semi-together, two parents, and cool toys. We had different diets and different cultures but otherwise, it wasn’t that different. So, why did I feel different? I was friends with their friends in their neighborhood and they were all white but they were all taught to be accepting for the most part. They didn’t make me feel like a different person because of the color of my skin. I always felt different from them because I matured much earlier and never did the same activities they did. What were we taught that was different? Did we learn more from our parents, our friends, school teachers, television, or what? We were so young so things stuck to us easily. Till this day, it is clear that they don’t think about the things I think about. I knew when we were 10 and I know at 17. We’ve gone on different paths due to the cards life dealt us but we still keep some of the values we learned as children. Honestly, they (as a family) taught me so many things that my parents never instilled that I will never forget.
I’ve moved on to another best friend and he means so much to me. But sometimes, I can’t keep our differences out of my mind. What has been in my head since I was a youngster is still there. It was always “I’m not pretty because I’m not white. I’m not happy because I’m not white. People don’t like me because I’m not white.” I felt certain that I was going to end up alone because I wanted a white man and a white man would never want me. A white man would never want me because I’m not white and that’s why I’m ugly. These are things I thought about all the time in elementary school. WHY IS A FUCKING EIGHT YEAR OLD THINKING THIS?!? I don’t know. “When it comes to race, I don’t know why.”- Abi. Why did the white power that was seen through 8 year old eyes influence her entire way of thinking about herself? I know I watched too much television as a child. Unfortunately, when racism and white supremacy was taught, I was first in class with a sharpened pencil and an apple for the teacher.
I have a migraine. “Laundry is the only thing that should be separated by color.”-Unknown. This is a nice way to put it. I’m looking up quotes online. “Racism, in the first place, is a weapon used by the wealthy to increase the profits they bring in by paying Black workers less for their work.” –Angela Davis. These are all well put. I am going to try to make my own quote that is clever and that makes you think. Question: Why is it that when a white person has a not white person as a best friend, it’s cool but when a person of color has a white person as a best friend, it’s almost expected and accepted as something that is a good thing? My whole life, my best friends were white. My doctors were white. My teachers were white. My best friend told me once that people have said how it’s cool that I’m his best friend, me being someone who isn’t white. Is it cool because he is giving me something by being a white male? Am I automatically needy because I am American-Dominican? Should I be thankful that he chose me? I really don’t get it. No one has ever patted me on the back for having a white friend and no one probably will. I feel like everything is decided mutually with us. I guess there are people out there that expect something different.
When I was younger, I was convinced that I wanted to be white. It was my deepest secret. I was embarrassed. I really hated the color of my skin and everything that came with it. I was ashamed to hate it. Of course, I didn’t understand why I hated it, but I was uneducated about these things back then. My best friends at the time had a family that wasn’t too different from mine. The home was big enough, dinner together or semi-together, two parents, and cool toys. We had different diets and different cultures but otherwise, it wasn’t that different. So, why did I feel different? I was friends with their friends in their neighborhood and they were all white but they were all taught to be accepting for the most part. They didn’t make me feel like a different person because of the color of my skin. I always felt different from them because I matured much earlier and never did the same activities they did. What were we taught that was different? Did we learn more from our parents, our friends, school teachers, television, or what? We were so young so things stuck to us easily. Till this day, it is clear that they don’t think about the things I think about. I knew when we were 10 and I know at 17. We’ve gone on different paths due to the cards life dealt us but we still keep some of the values we learned as children. Honestly, they (as a family) taught me so many things that my parents never instilled that I will never forget.
I’ve moved on to another best friend and he means so much to me. But sometimes, I can’t keep our differences out of my mind. What has been in my head since I was a youngster is still there. It was always “I’m not pretty because I’m not white. I’m not happy because I’m not white. People don’t like me because I’m not white.” I felt certain that I was going to end up alone because I wanted a white man and a white man would never want me. A white man would never want me because I’m not white and that’s why I’m ugly. These are things I thought about all the time in elementary school. WHY IS A FUCKING EIGHT YEAR OLD THINKING THIS?!? I don’t know. “When it comes to race, I don’t know why.”- Abi. Why did the white power that was seen through 8 year old eyes influence her entire way of thinking about herself? I know I watched too much television as a child. Unfortunately, when racism and white supremacy was taught, I was first in class with a sharpened pencil and an apple for the teacher.
Being queer sounds cool to me
July 30th, 2009
Being queer isn’t a term many people I know would find completely understandable. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have understood it either. But now, it is a big part of many things I think about. When I think about someone I’ve hooked up with that happens to be female bodied, that is natural for me. Most likely, it makes me smile. I didn’t have these experiences two years ago to think about; doesn’t mean I didn’t daydream.
When I get a new haircut (self done), I always have a hard time looking in the mirror for the first week. Cutting my hair is a way that I express my gender. When I am put into situations where I have to work with people I don’t know and they look different then me, I try to forget what they see when they look at me because they might be judging me. In life, I plan on getting judged a lot. I cannot stand those looks, though; the “What the fuck is wrong with you? You would be such a pretty girl if you let your hair grow.” Who says I have to be a pretty girl; the men that honk at me when I’m walking down the street maybe? That is a perk to having hair so “boyish”; a little less men think you’re hot and want to fuck you. I’m sick and tired of men trying to get my number and trying to talk to me. DON’T YOU SEE I’M UGLY!?!? A teacher once told me he believed that was my mission; to look uglier and uglier. I took it as an insult at the time even though I understood him completely and contemplated it later. The thing is, I don’t want to be a girl or a boy. I want to be something you may not see every day. I want to be something so fluid, that I make no sense and people accept it. I want to be referred to as “Abi” and I want to cut my hair short enough that I never need to use a brush. I want to walk with bad posture and have a deep voice and occasionally grab my imaginary balls. I want to be able to show clevich every now and then and wear shoes from the women’s section and some make up. I want to look at other people who don’t make sense but are clearly beautiful. What annoys me is the idea that so many people choose to fit the expected look and do it blindly. I want to represent my culture; my queer culture. I believe that is another reason I cut my hair; I want people to know. Sometimes, it is very frustrating that I don’t fit the perfect mold of looking like an obvious guy or an obvious girl. It’s hard watching everyone else being respected the same because they look “right” and having to worry whether or not you’re going to get what you want because you don’t look like everybody else. I want to be able to yell “I like making out with women sometimes. They can be really sexy” without feeling like I just confessed I was a terrorist. It’s also a matter of my fluidity with my sexual orientation. If I don’t want to be a boy or girl, why should I expect everyone else to be? It’s not that I like kissing women, it’s that I like kissing someone who I am attracted to and that could easily be someone with boobs. I hate it when someone assumes that I am straight. I think it is written all over my face that I'm not but all queers say that. I was recently asked if there was a boy I my life. I didn’t, but I want to reply with “Maybe I’m not into boys. You shouldn’t assume.” I can’t identify as a lesbian because I am certain that word doesn’t describe me. That is a term I feel is used by female identified people who are attracted to other female identified people. That definitely isn’t me. Unfortunately, I’m more complex. I’m just me. I always forget that the fact that I come off as a lesbian is something that would want to make some men talk to me so repelling men doesn’t happen as often as I would like it to. Men have made their definition in my life and I am therefore scarred. I wish my feelings towards me weren’t so skewed (I guess is the word I’m looking for). Growing up, I watched my father beat my mother continuously and I was very young. It scared me all the time but I had to expect it after a certain point. As a “girl,” I was taught that if a man says he is going to do something, believe him no matter what. It was proven with my father. I seemed to always suppress whatever I knew about men when I met one or was in a private situation with one. I figured that things would be different because I was different. It took way too long for me to learn that I was so fucking wrong. I’m not that different and certainly not that special. If somebody wants to take advantage of me and I am clearly not seeing it, they will do it. I won’t understand the scenario I put myself into until it’s too late and then I go through that all over again with a different man. Why did I do that? I think I did it because I had hoped to spend the rest of my life with a man and I just kept trying to find someone who proved everything wrong. It never happened, I gave up. I was forced to accept my same sex desires and act upon them with an open mind. In no means am I saying I became queer. I am saying that I embraced the part of me that didn’t fit in the binary and tried what I thought I would like. I opened my eyes to the world of not being so boring and typical. Now, here I am watching The L Word on youtube. I believe I’ve gone full circle.
Being queer isn’t a term many people I know would find completely understandable. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have understood it either. But now, it is a big part of many things I think about. When I think about someone I’ve hooked up with that happens to be female bodied, that is natural for me. Most likely, it makes me smile. I didn’t have these experiences two years ago to think about; doesn’t mean I didn’t daydream.
When I get a new haircut (self done), I always have a hard time looking in the mirror for the first week. Cutting my hair is a way that I express my gender. When I am put into situations where I have to work with people I don’t know and they look different then me, I try to forget what they see when they look at me because they might be judging me. In life, I plan on getting judged a lot. I cannot stand those looks, though; the “What the fuck is wrong with you? You would be such a pretty girl if you let your hair grow.” Who says I have to be a pretty girl; the men that honk at me when I’m walking down the street maybe? That is a perk to having hair so “boyish”; a little less men think you’re hot and want to fuck you. I’m sick and tired of men trying to get my number and trying to talk to me. DON’T YOU SEE I’M UGLY!?!? A teacher once told me he believed that was my mission; to look uglier and uglier. I took it as an insult at the time even though I understood him completely and contemplated it later. The thing is, I don’t want to be a girl or a boy. I want to be something you may not see every day. I want to be something so fluid, that I make no sense and people accept it. I want to be referred to as “Abi” and I want to cut my hair short enough that I never need to use a brush. I want to walk with bad posture and have a deep voice and occasionally grab my imaginary balls. I want to be able to show clevich every now and then and wear shoes from the women’s section and some make up. I want to look at other people who don’t make sense but are clearly beautiful. What annoys me is the idea that so many people choose to fit the expected look and do it blindly. I want to represent my culture; my queer culture. I believe that is another reason I cut my hair; I want people to know. Sometimes, it is very frustrating that I don’t fit the perfect mold of looking like an obvious guy or an obvious girl. It’s hard watching everyone else being respected the same because they look “right” and having to worry whether or not you’re going to get what you want because you don’t look like everybody else. I want to be able to yell “I like making out with women sometimes. They can be really sexy” without feeling like I just confessed I was a terrorist. It’s also a matter of my fluidity with my sexual orientation. If I don’t want to be a boy or girl, why should I expect everyone else to be? It’s not that I like kissing women, it’s that I like kissing someone who I am attracted to and that could easily be someone with boobs. I hate it when someone assumes that I am straight. I think it is written all over my face that I'm not but all queers say that. I was recently asked if there was a boy I my life. I didn’t, but I want to reply with “Maybe I’m not into boys. You shouldn’t assume.” I can’t identify as a lesbian because I am certain that word doesn’t describe me. That is a term I feel is used by female identified people who are attracted to other female identified people. That definitely isn’t me. Unfortunately, I’m more complex. I’m just me. I always forget that the fact that I come off as a lesbian is something that would want to make some men talk to me so repelling men doesn’t happen as often as I would like it to. Men have made their definition in my life and I am therefore scarred. I wish my feelings towards me weren’t so skewed (I guess is the word I’m looking for). Growing up, I watched my father beat my mother continuously and I was very young. It scared me all the time but I had to expect it after a certain point. As a “girl,” I was taught that if a man says he is going to do something, believe him no matter what. It was proven with my father. I seemed to always suppress whatever I knew about men when I met one or was in a private situation with one. I figured that things would be different because I was different. It took way too long for me to learn that I was so fucking wrong. I’m not that different and certainly not that special. If somebody wants to take advantage of me and I am clearly not seeing it, they will do it. I won’t understand the scenario I put myself into until it’s too late and then I go through that all over again with a different man. Why did I do that? I think I did it because I had hoped to spend the rest of my life with a man and I just kept trying to find someone who proved everything wrong. It never happened, I gave up. I was forced to accept my same sex desires and act upon them with an open mind. In no means am I saying I became queer. I am saying that I embraced the part of me that didn’t fit in the binary and tried what I thought I would like. I opened my eyes to the world of not being so boring and typical. Now, here I am watching The L Word on youtube. I believe I’ve gone full circle.
This was the first one. I just felt like writing after that day I had.
July 29th, 2009.
I think I lost some dignity today. Do I even know what the fuck dignity is? According to dictionary.com, it means “nobility or elevation of character.” I asked someone to use their car so I could go to the pawn shop so I could see when their hours where because I have somewhere around $7 in my account. She let me use her car. She wasn’t a stranger, by the way. But when I said it, and she said it was fine, I was thinking to myself how angry and embarrassed I am but very thankful. There are many people in this world that wouldn’t have done it. She mainly gave it to me because if she didn’t, I would have to be late to my internship and she is my boss. For some reason, I just felt lower when that happened. When I got in her car, all I could think about is how sick and fucking tired I am of having to do this; how taking favors and charities is going to be my story for a long time, maybe forever. Though, just the idea that I am now pawning things to get cash in my pockets to get by for the next 3 weeks is making me feel like a failure. Thinking that way just adds on to the other ways I am setting myself up for failure. I was thinking heavily, today about how it probably wasn’t smart for me to have chosen to take calculus at Simon’s Rock because I got a shitty grade taking pre calculus at Housatonic and I can’t afford to get that kind of grade in college. A fucking C+!! I know (or I hope), that in college, the situation will be different and I will be able to ask for help no matter what because I will have the time and I won’t need to be catching the bus for anything. My grades will be my main concern. I will join minimal clubs and activities for that purpose until I know what I can handle. I just feel like my economic status is controlling my life and it seems like every time someone throws me a bone, that person has significantly lighter skin than me and is much more privileged. Why does my life seem to fit the stereotype of the way People of Color and Caucasians are seen, economically, in the media and in history books(patriarchal and feminist)? I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing what I see and feeling what I feel that is associated with things I cannot change. I have to always wonder, would this have happened to me if I was white? I had to wonder that when I was walking down Main Street after field day last year, and a complete stranger, of color, youth, felt the need to grab my right breast as if it was something he knows and loves. In what kind of fucking world do I live in that someone would do that to me? I wouldn’t touch anybody that I don’t know in an inappropriate place without their permission. Why do I deserve this? I later found out he did it because his friend dared him. Also, he was younger than me and there was no doubt in my mind that I was at a completely different maturity level than him. WOULD HIS FRIEND HAVE DARED HIM IF I WAS WHITE!?!? (I am crying this out to anyone with ears) He didn’t know what he did to me. My way of thinking was somewhat empowered but still a little in denial. I was somewhat empowered with my vagina and with my skin and how it was interpreted. I thought I was a beast. I thought I was a monster. I sure as hell didn’t for the rest of that day. Funny thing is, I was with Ashley (my lesbian feminist Jesus) later that day. She of all people would understand how I felt. At that time, I wasn’t able to put it into words and I was still in shock pretty much. That was over a year ago. I still think about it every now and then. Whatever, I’m leaving this town soon anyway. All this is confusing because I have so many questions I want answered. I could make a list that will go to the end of the world. Why would any working class person vote republican? Why does my best friend, a white male, make me feel like shit by doing absolutely nothing? Why doesn’t my mother make enough money to buy name brand boxed cereal and several loaves of bread? Am I just one of those people that are naturally envious or materialistic? Do those exist? (Listening to Green Day “Sometimes I feel like I’m walking alone”) Unfortunately, I feel like having a male white best boyfriend just adds to the anger because I’m watching it happen right in front of me all the time versus from a distance on occasion. When it comes to him, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Though, I wonder if I’m ever going to accept it as part of my life instead of thinking it’s some sort of way the universe + society is taking a dump on my face. My life of running for the bus, not having enough money for a drink when I buy food which means I need to remember to have a drink on me, asking someone to give me a ride, ALWAYS remembering my “thank you” afterwards, keeping a little bit of a friendship with someone because they have a car, finding unthinkable ways to get things for free, walking a lot, leaving home a lot, not willingly having human interaction and remembering to eat something so I am not tempted to buy something when I am out or watching someone buy something for me can be a routine but it gets old quick. I wouldn’t mind a change. I wouldn’t mind feeling like I have the power. A 17 year old, female bodied, queer appearing, American-Dominican, working class, minimally educated human with power? That doesn’t even make sense to me, unfortunately. And why doesn’t it make sense to me? It doesn’t make sense because society and socioeconomics and sociology molded my mind and nearly all Americans into thinking that something like this doesn’t exist, it never will, so don’t hope for it. There is no reason that I shouldn’t be able to picture someone like that in power. I want to know why this all started the way it did or molded into the way it did. Who came up with calling people with light skin white? Why did they take over entire races? Why wasn’t it the other way around? Have they had the power since the Stone Age? Was this lifestyle inevitable? Am I doomed for failure? I know people who would swear I’m not but their words mean nothing (sometimes) because I’m the one in my head and I’m the pilot of this vessel. I know what’s going down and staying up. What people see isn’t always there.
I think I lost some dignity today. Do I even know what the fuck dignity is? According to dictionary.com, it means “nobility or elevation of character.” I asked someone to use their car so I could go to the pawn shop so I could see when their hours where because I have somewhere around $7 in my account. She let me use her car. She wasn’t a stranger, by the way. But when I said it, and she said it was fine, I was thinking to myself how angry and embarrassed I am but very thankful. There are many people in this world that wouldn’t have done it. She mainly gave it to me because if she didn’t, I would have to be late to my internship and she is my boss. For some reason, I just felt lower when that happened. When I got in her car, all I could think about is how sick and fucking tired I am of having to do this; how taking favors and charities is going to be my story for a long time, maybe forever. Though, just the idea that I am now pawning things to get cash in my pockets to get by for the next 3 weeks is making me feel like a failure. Thinking that way just adds on to the other ways I am setting myself up for failure. I was thinking heavily, today about how it probably wasn’t smart for me to have chosen to take calculus at Simon’s Rock because I got a shitty grade taking pre calculus at Housatonic and I can’t afford to get that kind of grade in college. A fucking C+!! I know (or I hope), that in college, the situation will be different and I will be able to ask for help no matter what because I will have the time and I won’t need to be catching the bus for anything. My grades will be my main concern. I will join minimal clubs and activities for that purpose until I know what I can handle. I just feel like my economic status is controlling my life and it seems like every time someone throws me a bone, that person has significantly lighter skin than me and is much more privileged. Why does my life seem to fit the stereotype of the way People of Color and Caucasians are seen, economically, in the media and in history books(patriarchal and feminist)? I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing what I see and feeling what I feel that is associated with things I cannot change. I have to always wonder, would this have happened to me if I was white? I had to wonder that when I was walking down Main Street after field day last year, and a complete stranger, of color, youth, felt the need to grab my right breast as if it was something he knows and loves. In what kind of fucking world do I live in that someone would do that to me? I wouldn’t touch anybody that I don’t know in an inappropriate place without their permission. Why do I deserve this? I later found out he did it because his friend dared him. Also, he was younger than me and there was no doubt in my mind that I was at a completely different maturity level than him. WOULD HIS FRIEND HAVE DARED HIM IF I WAS WHITE!?!? (I am crying this out to anyone with ears) He didn’t know what he did to me. My way of thinking was somewhat empowered but still a little in denial. I was somewhat empowered with my vagina and with my skin and how it was interpreted. I thought I was a beast. I thought I was a monster. I sure as hell didn’t for the rest of that day. Funny thing is, I was with Ashley (my lesbian feminist Jesus) later that day. She of all people would understand how I felt. At that time, I wasn’t able to put it into words and I was still in shock pretty much. That was over a year ago. I still think about it every now and then. Whatever, I’m leaving this town soon anyway. All this is confusing because I have so many questions I want answered. I could make a list that will go to the end of the world. Why would any working class person vote republican? Why does my best friend, a white male, make me feel like shit by doing absolutely nothing? Why doesn’t my mother make enough money to buy name brand boxed cereal and several loaves of bread? Am I just one of those people that are naturally envious or materialistic? Do those exist? (Listening to Green Day “Sometimes I feel like I’m walking alone”) Unfortunately, I feel like having a male white best boyfriend just adds to the anger because I’m watching it happen right in front of me all the time versus from a distance on occasion. When it comes to him, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Though, I wonder if I’m ever going to accept it as part of my life instead of thinking it’s some sort of way the universe + society is taking a dump on my face. My life of running for the bus, not having enough money for a drink when I buy food which means I need to remember to have a drink on me, asking someone to give me a ride, ALWAYS remembering my “thank you” afterwards, keeping a little bit of a friendship with someone because they have a car, finding unthinkable ways to get things for free, walking a lot, leaving home a lot, not willingly having human interaction and remembering to eat something so I am not tempted to buy something when I am out or watching someone buy something for me can be a routine but it gets old quick. I wouldn’t mind a change. I wouldn’t mind feeling like I have the power. A 17 year old, female bodied, queer appearing, American-Dominican, working class, minimally educated human with power? That doesn’t even make sense to me, unfortunately. And why doesn’t it make sense to me? It doesn’t make sense because society and socioeconomics and sociology molded my mind and nearly all Americans into thinking that something like this doesn’t exist, it never will, so don’t hope for it. There is no reason that I shouldn’t be able to picture someone like that in power. I want to know why this all started the way it did or molded into the way it did. Who came up with calling people with light skin white? Why did they take over entire races? Why wasn’t it the other way around? Have they had the power since the Stone Age? Was this lifestyle inevitable? Am I doomed for failure? I know people who would swear I’m not but their words mean nothing (sometimes) because I’m the one in my head and I’m the pilot of this vessel. I know what’s going down and staying up. What people see isn’t always there.
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