I want you to read these lyrics:
“That holy water that you soak in has been poisoned When everyone else is more comfortable remaining voiceless Rather than fighting for humans that have had their rights stolen I might not be the same, but that's not important No freedom 'til we're equal, damn right I support it” Look: I know I’ve written before about the importance of speaking out to help the voiceless. Until violence ceases and ignorance is essentially eliminated from my daily sight, though, speaking out against hatred should never be hindered. Our ancestors fled their country because they felt as though their rights were being taken away, and how did they solve this issue? They moved to a country they thought they had solely found, but, instead, they ripped it from the hands of their true founders. Our country was literally founded on privilege. Privilege exists as long as we think we are better than our counterparts for simply originating from seemingly superior backgrounds. When, though, will we simply reach an equal and just nation? When will we reside within the valleys and hills of a country in which we can confidently say uplifts the broken and welcomes the oppressed? We think we can do this now, but we cannot. We cannot claim to live in a town, county, state, or country in which evocative discrimination is present when it should have been eliminated from the day our ancestors finally reached the realization of, “Hey, we actually are all just people.” While derogatory terms are thrown around with the intention to discriminate and spread hate, we cannot say we welcome those same victims. How can we claim to be thankful for the false pretenses we have of how we established this country, when people who crave to flee their presiding nations cannot even walk into ours without the fear for their own lives? How can we claim to be one of the best countries when we are not even a welcoming country? Even our own citizens face backlash for who they kiss or who they even date. They cannot even reach marital status because someone in a suit who claims to have everyone’s best intentions in mind deems it immoral to their own standards. This man in the suit would not walk with the same swagger if someone across the aisle said he could no longer pursue a married life with his fiancée because he did not approve of their relationship. Before we judge, before we discriminate, before we eliminate the rights and voices of others, think about your living situation. Have you ever been threatened for something you cannot change? Has someone who should not even have an opinion on your life expressed this opinion? How did it settle with you? Were you frustrated, hurt, or pissed? Stop hate. Don’t discriminate.
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It's interesting to view the different opinions of silence. We perceive vocal opinions to be somewhat of a higher intelligence–presenting their counterparts as inferior. We do not know the situations behind silence, though. Too many people are silenced because others felt as though their voices did not possess the depth to dignify their beliefs. Sometimes, this can be enough to stifle even the most insightful of wisdoms. Silence can contribute just as much to a conversation as the loudest of voices. When our mouths are not vocalizing our thoughts, we leave room for listening and understanding–a more valuable use of time than time spent speaking.
Do you ever find yourself searching for something–like a lost necklace–only to graze your fingers over something you lost long ago? We lose things, and as time grows longer, our searches reach a halt. Maybe we stop looking because we lose hope or maybe we have even forgotten about those moments in which we frantically tore apart our living spaces. One day, though, you find it again. You find it after it has long been replaced. It has been replaced long enough to hold your patience, but now you've found your old necklace again, and you realize it now feels like a stranger too.
Think about the time in which you had the opportunity to stand up for a smaller kid on the bus who was bullied every afternoon. Did you speak up? If not, was it the result of your insecurity to speak out against someone bigger than you or older than you? Was it centered on your deductive reasoning that if you speak out, then the bully will come after you? Perhaps, it was both. You were too nervous to speak up in front of a crowd of kids from your school so you succumbed to turning your head while it happened. At least, that way, he did not go after you.
Or did he? Inadvertently, he did. You remembered the look on the little kid’s face as he sat and cried in his seat, while his fingers were interwoven and white from the pressure of squeezing his backpack tightly to his chest. From your seat, you could see the tears falling onto the mud-stricken floor and his back heaving while he tried to stifle the crying. That night, you went to bed thinking about how you could have helped him. You thought about him the next night, too. The thoughts eventually slowed, and you only thought about him every once in a while. Then, you thought you had forgotten him until your child came home crying because “the big kids were being mean.” When you did not think it would matter if you helped out a kid you hardly knew, it did matter. It still matters. It all matters. In that situation, he was an oppressed child. You might have only been the same size. You might have even been smaller; however, in that situation, you were not the child who was teased or bullied for simply being himself. Your mom once said, “Just be yourself. Everyone will love you.” That child’s mom once said that to him, too. You remember this child when you turn on the news every evening, and you see lives being shattered out of racism, homophobia, and xenophobia. Why do black lives matter? Shouldn’t all lives matter? In a sense, they do. They matter every day. They matter when you walk to class, eat lunch, and drive your car. They do not all matter, though, when a cop suspects a black teenager of a crime simply based on his race. They do not all matter when a girl who is wearing a hijab sits next to you on the bus, and you contemplate moving to a different seat. They do not all matter when a man and his fiancé want a cake, but the baker refuses to provide them with their chosen dessert. They did not matter when Rosa Parks was arrested for not appeasing the will of a white man. They did not matter when people from the Jewish community were annihilated based on one man’s severe hatred. They did not all matter then, and they do not all matter now. By celebrating Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we do not suggest breast cancer is the only cancer worth acknowledging. It is simply a reminder to reach out to those in need when they may ask for help. It gives you time to acknowledge the lives lost from this illness. By celebrating any one group, illness, or organization, we do not suggest they matter over their counterparts. We simply suggest taking a few moments out of your day to educate yourselves on the actualities of the harm, exhaustion, and disrespect others may receive at the feet of their oppressors. While you may think it does not matter in this exact moment, it does. It matters now, and it always will. Sometimes, you go to college with a declared major. Sometimes, it works out. Sometimes, though, it takes everything short of a little blood to force yourself to attempt to enjoy your classes. It is not noticeable at first, but it comes in slow movements. One day, you feel as though this major was the best decision of your life because you feel fulfilled during class discussions. Other times, though, you find yourself facing your computer screen with glazed eyes and your first D on a test.
You try to enjoy class. You even make an attempt to talk to more people and research controversial and well-established topics within the subject. What you soon realize is how you fell in love with an idea rather than a concrete subject. They told us in English classes: abstract ideas are thoughts you cannot physically grasp such as love or excitement. Concrete objects, though, are items you can physically touch such as a person or a book. We tend to fall in love with the abstract before understanding the underlying concrete actualities of reality. Maybe you grew up fantasizing about being a reporter in the midst of political controversy or after a celebrity’s death, but how would you truly react in these scenarios? When you realize you would rather research your own information without worrying about prying into other people’s lives, you also soon realize how little you would be wanted in a newsroom. These ideas fabricate the actualities of the real workforce. While it would be ideal to show up at a modern and crisp desk with a view of the skyline in New York City while you wholeheartedly receive a salary for updating your blog, this is not typically how careers form. They form by completing the worst work in the field. Do you want to become an editor? Are you okay with fetching coffee and organizing your boss’s calendar before you become your own boss? Then, awesome! You are probably on the right path if it is your dream to edit other’s pieces and be the face for your own publication as well. Essentially, it is important to understand the concrete elements of your desired profession or college major. This explains why I have had three different majors and sifted through various minors to complement those majors within only three years of being an undergraduate student. We do not realize the turmoil certain professions undergo, and unless you are willing to undergo those facets of mayhem, you probably should not be on your current path. Is that not how we create our own futures, though? Should we not form our own paths? This is the point. In order to find your way in life, you need to begin by slashing through the greenery and forming your foundation for your path. Even if you begin by placing pebbles one at a time, at least you are on your way. There may come a time when you face a circumstance and you decide to change your direction. It is okay. This is your path, your journey, and you will reach your personal destination. We all change our minds–in life, in work, in relationships, in passions. More specifically, though, the facet of mind-changing in which we find the most fear is when we realize we may be pursuing the wrong career path or major in college. It does not happen all at once–it does not feel as though currents are pushing you deeper into an ocean. Although, it may seem this way toward the finalization of your declaration to change your major, it happens slower than we believe.
When we enter college, we proudly make everyone aware of what our chosen majors and minors are. We continue our introductory statements with how we have had dreams and aspirations of pursuing this field ever since we realized we could form our own opinions and set our own standards. It happened to me. From the time I entered my first journalism course as a sophomore in high school and until I sat in my journalism lectures in college, I believed I would become a soul-searching, heart-wrenching reporter who would never fear venturing toward assignments overseas or communicating with leaders I did not respect. What happened? A mind can change when you spend the majority of your time covering local news and athletic events. I realized I did not love it enough to undergo the boring and monotonous work needed in order to move on to greater storytelling. Frankly, I was not even a good writer in these fields either, simply because I did not care. What I did realize, though, was I held tight to organization, I wanted to share my opinions, and I needed to help people. Two years later: I am pursuing an English Studies degree with a minor in Creative Writing and a strong will to attend law school after graduation. I figured, I might as well chisel and sharpen the skills I enjoy honing while I pay for my undergraduate education rather than hate myself and perform poorly in classes for a career in something I do not even wish to pursue (a.k.a Journalism). My point? It almost seems as though it is those students who have had their minds set for years about their majors who change their career paths. Sometimes we narrow our visions too much, and this results in us trying to sooth our worried minds because we are blind to everything else the world has to offer. We do not realize our preferences for writing can be used in law, or our love for science can be used in medicine rather than research. Now, this does not mean it is wise to simply start college by taking all core classes. Not only are most of them awful, but they also may not even open your eyes to your passions or talents. Do you have an indication about a career you might like to pursue? Find a suitable major, and take one or two courses. Emerging yourself into an experience is the quickest way to find out whether or not you like it. Another relieving anecdote: Majors are not final. They do not label you for the rest of your lives, and you are not tied to these specific areas. Minds evolve. Situations change. Talents surface. Jobs open. Nothing is permanent. Everyone can start over. Dear Boy,
Most of us hope to experience a great love to last the rest of our lives, but none of us really know if we will find it. We might think we have it, only to find out how fragile it falls alongside the not-quite-finished school project still warm with glue, or maybe it falls between our fingers with a donut’s powder. Our moment to find it might be sparse, a moment falling too short of a Popsicle’s lifespan. Have we found it? We may not know. We might not realize it until the glue hardens, the powder stops falling, and Popsicle is long gone. It may be standing in front, behind, or beside us, holding out its hand and eager to continue this eternal flame. I thought I found you. Maybe it was the summer air and the way the warmth seemed to soften rough edges of even the most rigid situations, but I thought I felt it. Then, when summer disappeared, I realized you did not. We started the fire with a single match, a single moment, a single breath. It burned hot–almost scalding. Once we realized we could stand before it without receiving a burn, though, we danced. We danced around it while our hands intertwined with laughter–sometimes used to hide the truth–rising higher than the smoke climbing toward the stars–evidence of lives much greater than ours. One question remained: When would the flames cease? Would this happiness cease with it? Was this even happiness? Once the flames died and the smoke clothed us in its suffocating warmth, we used our tools to poke and prod the dying remnants of past happiness. Eventually, we unearthed the flames and we welcomed them while they emitted their magic, their comfort, and their desire to wrap around us until our last breaths. We thought we could fix everything. In reality, we were trying to fit the piece of a puzzle in the wrong scene. We found ourselves overwhelmed by the all-consuming smoke while it buried itself deep within our throats and attached itself to the walls of our lungs. Discomfort turned into coughing, followed closely by goodbyes. Even though this suffocation postponed my normal breathing patterns for a while, and I was the only one affected by the smoke while you wore a mask, it seems as though I came out stronger than you did. I learned what it felt like to be ignored, hindered, and unappreciated. When I stumbled upon actual happiness–insecurity no longer finds its role in my present–it was at first difficult to comprehend. Was it too good to be true? It wasn’t, though. It still isn’t. It’s everything I wanted without the melodrama of suffocation and constant hidden imagery and symbolism so often drawn in with your presence. While I had to bury myself within the smoke in order to find you, I now live without the smoldering ashes, without the suffocation, and without the pain of feeling burdensome and lackluster. I feel appreciated, and that is all I have ever wanted. Sincerely, The Girl You Never Appreciated We notice the way a moment affects us–maybe positive or maybe negative. Either way, nobody can deny the way it transforms our limbs and the way it increases the warmth in our eyes. Sometimes the heat becomes white: Eyes curl with the bend of our smiles and our cheeks redden from the sudden emotion flooding through our faces. Our happiness reaches levels too high for our mouths to even contain the ecstasy. Other times, though, a rock resides in our stomachs and our appetites soon fade. We suddenly feel as though we can destroy everything around us just like the picture seemed to destroy us.
Suddenly, though, you realize you are unaffected by the latter. What used to make the wax from a candle melt down to the floor and an unsinkable ship find its way to the bottom of the ocean no longer affects you. Joy now resides in the curl of your smile and the spaces between your fingers. You have found someone better. Life is better. You are better. Be patient. Calm down. Relax. I cannot tell you how many times I have been told to do these three commands. After hours of studying, then not doing well on exams and stressing myself out beyond compare to my other peers, it seems as though fixing myself is the only solution others can give me. Well, what happens when you are the person who is always busy? 1. You do not know how to easily calm down. It seems as though you simply have to let yourself run your own course until you can finally sit down and breathe for two seconds. You need to be honest with yourself and let yourself be angry, otherwise it will stay built within you and you will explode about the same problem two days later. 2. You do not understand those people who can simply do nothing all the time. You are always on the go, meeting new people, finishing papers, working, going to classes, and attending meetings. How do those “do nothing” people ever get anything done? 3. You always plan. It does not matter if your project in class or your presentation at work is due two months from now. You always have to know what needs done and when it needs done. If someone wants to do something later, you need to know whether or not that person is going to flake on you because you have other priorities, too. 4. You do not have time for people who complain. This does not mean you have never complained about a situation before, but you have a proactive mentality. If something does not go your way, then you do everything you can to make sure it happens correctly the next time. 5. You like to stay busy. People have probably told you to beware of burning out, but you nonchalantly brush off their comments. While some people like taking frequent naps, you get a thrill out of mentally crossing off assignments or tasks. It shows how productive you really are. You stay busy because you like to stay busy. 6. Even though you like to stay busy, you still enjoy your downtime. Enjoying your downtime means you know you checked off your priorities, and now you can dedicate your entire self to simply relaxing. You can read, watch your favorite movie, catch up on your favorite show, drink a glass of wine, or run around the park. You were productive, and now you deserve to do anything you want. 7. You like to be self-sufficient. You enjoy knowing you can pay for your own food and your own bills because you feel as though you are finally entering a world in which you can call yourself independent. When you see people who solely rely on their significant others for food or clothes, you pity them because they will never understand how to be self-sufficient. Sure, you may not be able to fix your car or fix an electrical problem in your house, but you learn how to approach all situations. Now, it is all about perfecting your approach. 7. At some point, someone probably called you a bitch. You know your worth, and it exhausts you when people say your demands are too high or you have too many expectations. If you ask a lot of questions, then you probably do so because you like to be aware of what is going on in your life. All you can do is respond with the famous Tina Fey quote: “You know what? Bitches get stuff done.” “Why are all of these kids at the library?”
“Do these kids have parents?” “If these kids are going to come to the library, they could at least shower before they come.” Have you said any of these recently? Many of us have. I have. You probably have, too. We tend to think of our small, lackluster towns as though they are dumps because nobody in these towns cares enough to help rebuild their communities. It is as though we blame everyone else around us for the bleak blankets shielding our communities rather than lending hands to our neighbors in order to help each other stand up. We blame everyone else before asking ourselves, “What can we do to make these communities better places to live?” We scoff when we see new reports about meth labs or drug deals on the streets because we distance ourselves from our own communities. It is as though we distance ourselves by saying, “[Insert town here] is so trashy. All we have here are drugs and unemployed residents,” then we separate ourselves from being parts of these communities; however, we do not stop to think about those people who live in these sections of these communities in which daily horrors run rapid throughout the streets. Think about the last time you were at the library. Were kids grouped together, talking, without paying the slightest bit of attention toward the library’s resources? How many times have we asked, “Why don’t they just go home?” Have we ever followed up this question with: “Do they have a home?” Houses contain four walls, people who may or may not live in them, minimal or even excess food, and they possess the possibility of encompassing furniture. They can include the bare minimum or they can even possess too many belongings. There is a large spectrum of what a house may or may not occupy within its four walls. Homes are different, though. Homes have people who encourage dreams beyond their city limits, people who inspire their children to pursue their passions, and materials for children to expand their knowledge about the world. Listen to the stories these children keep within themselves. If you listen long enough, they might tell you a haunted house on their street has “creepy sounds of people screaming” and “drugs that make your eyes bleed.” To the average child, this story–a story told by their parents or other adults around them–probably seems as though it is a haunted house; however, to the average listener, this house possesses nightmares of drugs and abuse beyond the minds of mere nine-year-old girls in a public library. Do we want these girls to go back to their houses and pass by this haunted house with sounds creeping from the confined walls resembling tortured screams? Children should feel welcome in the library. Here, they are given a place in which they can warm their bones in the cold months, and maybe even meet other children who experience their same terrors day after day. Here, staff members can offer movie nights, book clubs, and crafts to children who only venture home when they need to sleep at night–only if their guardians allow this. Rather than succumbing to the thought of these children only taking up space in the local library, we should acknowledge thoughts we never have to suffer on our own: While these children and teenagers might have houses to visit, they may not possess homes quite like the public library. |
AuthorLauren is a Ball State University alumna with a Bachelor's degree in English and a concentration in Creative Writing. She enjoys breakfast for dinner with a side of literary enjoyment. Archives
December 2017
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