I haven’t felt like writing for many days. My heart hasn’t been in it. I could not understand what has been happening in the world around me, but then, I have just had my eyes open to the cruelty of a world that has been there all along. There has always been struggles, humanity against humanity, since the first time humans walked this earth. I only have to look around to see how we treat one another based on the look of our bodies, the hue of our skin, the strength of our beliefs; I am sickened by it.
All my life I have been an outsider. As a child, I had very few friends and even than I knew that I really couldn’t call them true ‘friends’. I played kick ball, hand ball, and enjoyed going on the monkey bars. Yet, I was asked by boys why I would ever play kickball, I was a girl (who loved pink) and seeing me there just didn’t seem right. Hand ball was even worse because I was often shoved out of line, but I stayed because I enjoyed playing, and because I knew even then that I had just as much right to play as anyone else.
As I got older, recess and playing outside was no longer something I could do. So, I would take walks on my own around the school yard after I ate. I didn’t speak much to anyone back then. The only time I spoke was in the classroom.
Now I am seen as outsider of my own family, but in truth I have always been seen that way. Every time I call my mom “Mom.” I see people look in confusion wondering how that could ever be so. All people see is the blonde hair, blue eyed, light skinned girl standing with a brown haired, brown eyed, darker skinned woman who looks too different to have a relation. What people don’t look at is the bond.
Being an outsider in these ways is not so bad. I know so many people who have it so much worse. I haven’t felt the bite of being belittled for how I look, or the pain of physical violence because of my religion, I haven’t been hurt, not really, but I can’t stand for the injustice of those who have.
For instance, while I was in high school, I was eating lunch at the tables outside with a group of people I had seen as my ‘friends’ and there was two spanish men fixing the window above where our table was. One of the boys sitting with me Began to make derogatory comments about the workers being undocumented that angered me to no end. To make matters worse, he looked at me like (because I was white) I was expected to agree. Angry, I yelled at him and I left. I couldn’t stand to continue to eat at the same table as someone who said the things he did. This was one of the first instances that made me hate my own race. How could it be that I was expected to hate a certain kind of people just because my own skin was a certain color? Why should I be expected to hate anyone? To treat anyone with hate? To verbally abuse someone for the social constraints others have placed on them? That it would be ok?
I have never cared about the race someone was born into. Race is simply what culture and people you were born into. I could have just as easily been born Chinese. I could have easily born in any other country. I could have had any kind of family. All the possibilities are endless. I do not fault anyone for the family they were born into. I do not fault anyone for what they believe in. I do not fault anyone for what gender they are or what sexual preference one has. To me, humans are humans, we all have our struggles, we all have our dreams. I am no better than anyone else. The only thing I fault people for is when they treat another with hatred. When someone acts in order to harm another and makes them feel less than dirt I feel so much anger. I want to act to combat it.
This is what I want to do with my writing. I want to use it to act. To change the way things have been originally thought. To get people to think. To inspire others to do a bit of good. I haven’t felt like writing these past few days, but I am writing now. My heart is fully invested. I may not understand why society has created the hatred and pain that it has, but I want to be a lyrical force against it. Actions may speak louder than words, but the pen is mightier than the sword and I will fight will all my might. For the people and the beauty of the world that I believe in.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this post. I had written it a long time ago and I don’t know why, but I felt afraid to publish it. I hope that my story here has spoken to you in some way. It would bring my heart so much joy to feel like this has made some difference, no matter how small.
-Till next time!