I come to you with some weight. Not weight on my body, which is superficial and comes and goes like the North East Corridor, but weight on my psyche. There is so much going on that my mind can’t even keep up, and my feelings are so deep in this shit that I honestly don’t know where to begin. Thoughts on the past, present and future are all colliding into one incomprehensible mosaic. I’m hoping that by the end of this letter I have made some sense of it all, even if it’s a small portion.
Let me start with the basics. I am a woman, a young, multi-ethnic woman trying to make a space for myself in this crowded and non-inclusive world. I am spawned from ancestors who have conquered, been conquered, been enslaved, been displaced, been slaughtered and sold on the block as chattel. I look to them to give me guidance and an example of how to be in this world, yet I find myself realizing day-by-day that life is a cycle of conquering, being conquered, slaughtered, displaced and being sold on a metaphorical block. 2017 is a repeat of 1492, 1776,1800, 1890, 1955 and so on and so forth.
I live in a world where there is a war between my people and the police force. I live in a world where people are being sent back to unspeakable horrors because they are undocumented. I live in a world where I make 77 cents to every male dollar. I live in a world where the ceiling isn’t glass it’s pure cement. My feet are planted firmly on soil that has been fertilized by the blood, sweat and tears of people who picked, tilled and grew day in and day out with shattered hopes and dreams but had unwavering strength and faith in the future. The ominous wind of tomorrow blows through my curls. My eyes are watery from exhaustion. The ways of the world are pathetic. My blackness is now an aesthetic. My body is a fetish. I’m done. I’m tired. I’m pissed.
Despite my feelings, I am here to tell you, World, that I am NOT going to allow this to conquer me. I’m unapologetically black, fat and angry. I will speak in open and closed forums. I will create inclusion for myself and others in spaces that are closed off by walls and bans and fences and pipelines. My voice is a weapon and a panacea; it pierces my oppressors and brings solidarity and peace to the wounded. I will not allow the ways of the world to destroy my happiness, my joy, and it will NOT make me live in fear. I am going to fight for what is right and what is necessary: basic human rights, love for everyone, freedom of speech, etc.
All I am asking from you, World, is to be accountable of your oppression and your privilege before you even think of uttering the word “solidarity”. Solidarity isn’t just a rainbow-coloured ally pin or sporting a “Black Lives Matter” shirt or a pussy hat, it’s standing with others while knocking down the demons of the past, present and future.
I’m at a point where I am unbothered by you being mad that I’m mad, but I need you to have a seat, listen and let me be mad. This is a time of expression, teaching and collaboration.
I’ve hit the ground running. My mouth is open, and I am unstoppable.
Tired of Being Tired