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fictionalWarning: Ahead you will find, whinging, ranting, angst-which-should-be-teen-but-sadly-isn't, fury, sadness and moments of tres gothique, and also talk of racism. Approach with caution. You have been warned.
Deep Breath and traditional disclaimer: If you are white as, oddly, the majority of my flist (and indeed the majority of my friends) are - please attempt not to be offended. This is not directed at you. I am not angry at you. I am just full of rage [read: envy, fury, general distress] at the world, the universe, this country, the system - you name a large group with undefined boundaries, and I am probably hacked off at it.
So today I was chatting with a very dear friend, and she was telling me, incidentally, an airport story. As usually happens with airport stories, it involved frustration, travelling angst, and in this particular case, a misplaced ID and some tears. Luckily, the ID was found, all was well, the airport personnel were, for once, civil, and there was some talk of allowing her on the plane anyway, even without it. This was great for my friend, and is really not the point of this post at all, aside from the fact that it made me think about this stuff.
Here's the point. I am furious. And hurt. I remember the last time I freaked out at an airport - because I was hungover, and upset to be leaving a lover, and in tears, and generally a mess. I was walking through security with him - this was pre-9/11, remember, and I kept not remembering what pockets I had stuff in, where I'd put my ticket etc. Did airport personnel hand me a tissue? Did they just avoid eye-contact till I'd gotten my shit together? No. They did not. They sent me over to where they go over your bags with the drug sniffing machines, and did an extra deep search of all my luggage, while I snivelled all over myself, bewilderedly, and my lover whispered at me emphatically at me to 'get it together, damn it, before they decide to do a cavity search'. And you better believe it, that's the last time I ever freaked out at an airport. Which is good, because now they don't just search your bags for drugs - now they don't let you fly, they harass you, they hold you for indefinite periods of time, they 'misplace' your ticket, they strip search you, etc etc. You've heard all the horror stories.
Unless you're a white girl, apparently. Then it's bring out the hankies.
And yes, this has happened before. I remember being in a greyhound station where I was asked to produce three forms of ID, while my friend breezed through the same agent [who was not white herself, I might add] with a nod and smile. I know these people don't necessarily mean it. They're ignorant, possibly, or frightened possibly, or careless possibly. Or they've imbibed the same lessons of privilege we all have, possibly, and are not to be blamed. You know what, I don't give a shit. I also know that it's not always about that, right? I mean, why always pull the race card? Maybe sometimes, I'm just not as good. I mean, it wasn't racist when the guy who I was heartbreakingly in love with from seventh to eleventh grade went out with every single one of my female friends, but not me - he just thought I was ugly. And that had nothing to do with the fact that they were all Asian, or white, right? Nothing to do with colour. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. Maybe I just wasn't to his taste. That's no crime, right? I mean look at my social circles - not too many people of color there. Or maybe I've swallowed it all too; the party line, everything. Or maybe not, you like who you like, right?
I don't have any answers, I just know that I am so tired of all this. I'm tired of how it hurts, every time. It hurts to walk down the street with friends and have people look through you, like you're an alien, or less than human. It hurts when you go to a restaurant, and all your friends get served, and you don't. It hurts to sit on the bus, and realise that all your friends are white, and you are always and forever marked and different. You want to be marked maybe, you take pride in being different, but you want it to be for yourself, something you did, something you are - not just the wrapping paper you happened to come in that you can never take off. You can't take a day off, ever, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you just want to lay down the fucking burden, let someone else carry it for a change.
And then I feel like maybe I'm just making a big deal out of nothing, after all, other people have it so much harder, so much worse, and yet it eats away at me, like some sort of corrosive acid. To look at people and wonder, what do they see, what do they really see when they look at me, Why do they look through me, Am I imagining it, Surely I'm not that paranoid, because it happens all the time, and I ignore it and ignore it, and pretend I don't see it, and then something happens, and it all gushes out in this kind of burning, ugly burst. It's so hard to explain.
I feel like a stranger in my skin. I look down at myself and get surprised sometimes because it just doesn't seem like the colour it should. It's that ingrained. It's like a little death sometimes. I want to feel proud of my heritage. Sometimes I even do. I think other people with my background can be, and often are beautiful. It's just that it feels all wrong. I hate feeling trapped in this skin, that just fills me with envy for other people, and their ease in the world. I sit uncomfortably in the world for a lot of reasons, most of which are under my control. But this one just wells up and overpowers me. There's no defense. There's just pain. I will be the first to admit that I'm a jealous person. And this just fuels the fires. I hate the fact that it is unjust and inescapable. It gnaws at me, from underneath. I don't often admit it, but it does.
We're all guilty in this, we're all complicit. "Everyone's a little bit racist" - I accept that, Ave. Q, I do. But can't it just go away for a second? I know about pride, it's a choice. But this is nothing I chose, ever. And I don't want to make a religion out of it, just because I happened to be born this way. It doesn't define me, and yet sometimes I wish it did. I'd be surrounded by similar faces, maybe, I'd fit, maybe. And yet I can't do it. It just isn't in me. Maybe I commit the same crime that I've just spent these few paragraphs talking about. And yet it makes me so angry. It makes me want to kick and scream, and just get the fuck out. Out of where? I don't even know.
I love whom I love, I like what I like. And mostly, when you put us together, you can always do the kid's game..."which one of these is different, and does not belong" -
and it's usually me.
Deep Breath and traditional disclaimer: If you are white as, oddly, the majority of my flist (and indeed the majority of my friends) are - please attempt not to be offended. This is not directed at you. I am not angry at you. I am just full of rage [read: envy, fury, general distress] at the world, the universe, this country, the system - you name a large group with undefined boundaries, and I am probably hacked off at it.
So today I was chatting with a very dear friend, and she was telling me, incidentally, an airport story. As usually happens with airport stories, it involved frustration, travelling angst, and in this particular case, a misplaced ID and some tears. Luckily, the ID was found, all was well, the airport personnel were, for once, civil, and there was some talk of allowing her on the plane anyway, even without it. This was great for my friend, and is really not the point of this post at all, aside from the fact that it made me think about this stuff.
Here's the point. I am furious. And hurt. I remember the last time I freaked out at an airport - because I was hungover, and upset to be leaving a lover, and in tears, and generally a mess. I was walking through security with him - this was pre-9/11, remember, and I kept not remembering what pockets I had stuff in, where I'd put my ticket etc. Did airport personnel hand me a tissue? Did they just avoid eye-contact till I'd gotten my shit together? No. They did not. They sent me over to where they go over your bags with the drug sniffing machines, and did an extra deep search of all my luggage, while I snivelled all over myself, bewilderedly, and my lover whispered at me emphatically at me to 'get it together, damn it, before they decide to do a cavity search'. And you better believe it, that's the last time I ever freaked out at an airport. Which is good, because now they don't just search your bags for drugs - now they don't let you fly, they harass you, they hold you for indefinite periods of time, they 'misplace' your ticket, they strip search you, etc etc. You've heard all the horror stories.
Unless you're a white girl, apparently. Then it's bring out the hankies.
And yes, this has happened before. I remember being in a greyhound station where I was asked to produce three forms of ID, while my friend breezed through the same agent [who was not white herself, I might add] with a nod and smile. I know these people don't necessarily mean it. They're ignorant, possibly, or frightened possibly, or careless possibly. Or they've imbibed the same lessons of privilege we all have, possibly, and are not to be blamed. You know what, I don't give a shit. I also know that it's not always about that, right? I mean, why always pull the race card? Maybe sometimes, I'm just not as good. I mean, it wasn't racist when the guy who I was heartbreakingly in love with from seventh to eleventh grade went out with every single one of my female friends, but not me - he just thought I was ugly. And that had nothing to do with the fact that they were all Asian, or white, right? Nothing to do with colour. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. Maybe I just wasn't to his taste. That's no crime, right? I mean look at my social circles - not too many people of color there. Or maybe I've swallowed it all too; the party line, everything. Or maybe not, you like who you like, right?
I don't have any answers, I just know that I am so tired of all this. I'm tired of how it hurts, every time. It hurts to walk down the street with friends and have people look through you, like you're an alien, or less than human. It hurts when you go to a restaurant, and all your friends get served, and you don't. It hurts to sit on the bus, and realise that all your friends are white, and you are always and forever marked and different. You want to be marked maybe, you take pride in being different, but you want it to be for yourself, something you did, something you are - not just the wrapping paper you happened to come in that you can never take off. You can't take a day off, ever, and sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you just want to lay down the fucking burden, let someone else carry it for a change.
And then I feel like maybe I'm just making a big deal out of nothing, after all, other people have it so much harder, so much worse, and yet it eats away at me, like some sort of corrosive acid. To look at people and wonder, what do they see, what do they really see when they look at me, Why do they look through me, Am I imagining it, Surely I'm not that paranoid, because it happens all the time, and I ignore it and ignore it, and pretend I don't see it, and then something happens, and it all gushes out in this kind of burning, ugly burst. It's so hard to explain.
I feel like a stranger in my skin. I look down at myself and get surprised sometimes because it just doesn't seem like the colour it should. It's that ingrained. It's like a little death sometimes. I want to feel proud of my heritage. Sometimes I even do. I think other people with my background can be, and often are beautiful. It's just that it feels all wrong. I hate feeling trapped in this skin, that just fills me with envy for other people, and their ease in the world. I sit uncomfortably in the world for a lot of reasons, most of which are under my control. But this one just wells up and overpowers me. There's no defense. There's just pain. I will be the first to admit that I'm a jealous person. And this just fuels the fires. I hate the fact that it is unjust and inescapable. It gnaws at me, from underneath. I don't often admit it, but it does.
We're all guilty in this, we're all complicit. "Everyone's a little bit racist" - I accept that, Ave. Q, I do. But can't it just go away for a second? I know about pride, it's a choice. But this is nothing I chose, ever. And I don't want to make a religion out of it, just because I happened to be born this way. It doesn't define me, and yet sometimes I wish it did. I'd be surrounded by similar faces, maybe, I'd fit, maybe. And yet I can't do it. It just isn't in me. Maybe I commit the same crime that I've just spent these few paragraphs talking about. And yet it makes me so angry. It makes me want to kick and scream, and just get the fuck out. Out of where? I don't even know.
I love whom I love, I like what I like. And mostly, when you put us together, you can always do the kid's game..."which one of these is different, and does not belong" -
and it's usually me.
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*many hugs*
Date: 2005-01-27 01:37 pm (UTC)I've been thinking a lot, lately, about social patterning -- how people cluster and over what they cluster -- and feeling so isolated because of how it works. It's the same story about how in high school, we had the whole range of stupid->brilliant right in front of us, never mind the real world's potential. People self-select into these patterns, I think, and that's where the complicity is, in simply liking what we like, which is more often just liking what we know.
(There's a whole lot of urban anthro theory on self-selection, creation of microcosms/worlds, etc. that's all rattling in my head, but it's easier to leave it out of this.)
I can't tell you how or where to fix this, or even just to escape it, but I can tell you again how beautiful I think you are, how talented, intelligent, and deserving of happiness and peace (and excitement)... none of that matters a whit in front of this largest of large (white) elephants in the (social) room, but it's a start.
Love you. (P.S. I added this to my memories section, do you mind?)
Re: *many hugs*
Date: 2005-01-28 03:05 am (UTC)Knowing you're here and listening, and feeling the love helps a lot though - so thank you.
Love you, lots & lots.
And of course I don't mind you're adding it - I'm honored. (That was pompous, but you know what I mean.)
Re: *many hugs*
Date: 2005-01-28 12:05 pm (UTC)love, love love.