Real Talk

    So, a few days ago I was scrolling down my Facebook homepage, and noticed the #BlackLivesMatter tag and accompanying gifs were everywhere. Again. Friends expressing their heartache, solidarity and pleas for change. Again. You know those notifications you get everyday from Facebook with 'You have memories to look back on today'? Several times I see posts I shared or made a year ago, on shootings, and I'm like, 'Wait, this was last year!?' It's this bizarre vicious cycle we're stuck in, and, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't even know where the latest shooting was (Isn't it just sad, that? Latest.). I used to be on top of these stories, knew every detail, read reports, sat through the videos. I could narrate every incident like I witnessed it myself. That was me, a year ago. Back when this was the most appalling thing I had ever heard of, the shock that such a thing could happen on American soil. Back when I would scrutinize every detail, wondering what I was missing, what had escalated the situation to have that end result. I found none, and began my search for kindred hearts, the collective outrage and out-pour of support, wondering what America would say to that, such blatant injustice and racism in the Land of the Free. And promptly learned that the comment section is the place hope and humanity go to die.

(Semi-rant: 'Murica, you have freedoms and liberties, and you are very proud of them, something you have made abundantly clear. And as you should be. But you are so completely over-the-top obsessed with your freedom of speech, most days it feels like you're afraid you'll run out if you don't use it enough. I'm a (mostly) positive person, and I am incapable of intentionally hurting someone else, whether I know them or not, so maybe I have too high expectations of people. As such, I fail to understand why Americans armed with their freedom of speech act can like children left with crayons in their living room. Yes, the crayons are yours, and yes, you can use them as you see fit. Can you use the crayons to draw on the nice white walls? I mean, sure you have the capacity, but you won't because, as a person entrusted with said crayons, frankly, you should bloody well know better. Case in point: "I'm voting for Trump because he speaks his mind." So, an openly xenophobic and racist president. Score.)

For shits n giggles. Side note: when you're bored, Google 'Most American picture ever'

    These days, I don't read the reports. I don't know the individual stories. And I should. Those people deserve to have their stories heard. But there's a certain despair that creeps in and wholly grips your core; the realization that this is the reality that we live in. That no matter what you say or do, there's a healthy number of people who simply don't give a shit about you. When it becomes so routine, black person gets shot, 'investigations' occur, outrage in whatever city it happened in, a section of social media goes nuts and expresses outrage and flimsy excuses in equal measure, somewhere along the line someone brings up the issue of race (to which, of course, Tomi Lahren will have something to counter. My God, that woman makes my ears bleed), it dies down, and then, for a while, we simply wait. Apathy is the ugliest trait, in my opinion, and I do not wish to ever be so jaded to the point of indifference. But sometimes I wonder if opening myself up to feel, everything, the hurt, the despair, the feelings of injustice, the silent cries of please, hear me and understand, really is better than shielding myself from it all.

    I am both amused and mildly irritated by the phrase 'I don't see colour'. This is high on my list of most ridiculous things ever said. The mere notion that that is supposed to mean 'I'm not racist' or something along those lines is baffling. To whomever it may concern, I don't believe it is particularly difficult to not be racist. I reckon hate requires a good amount of energy. However, 1) being non-racist is not equated to being pro-black (also, and you may wanna repeat after me, pro-black and pro-police are not mutually exclusive!!!), and 2) while being non-racist is dandy, it does not require you to ignore the existence of black people or their culture. I see people bend over backwards trying to describe someone without mentioning their race, as if calling me black is an insult. You acknowledging my race is not an insult, it is merely stating facts. I may have been the only black person in the story you're relaying (it happens). May save you some time.

    I'm a tad low on hope and good vibes to dish out, so just be aware of the possible internal battles people around you may be facing, stuff you maybe never have to think twice about. There's nothing left to say that hasn't already been said. You can't change something you refuse to acknowledge. It's a tough time to be black in America.