what do you see?

Note to Reader: Since this is a topic I personally feel very strongly about, it is hard for me to rationally lie down my argument without becoming heated. Thus I acknowledge that in parts some of this might be scattered, unnecessary, or particularly poorly written. Also it is 3:42am and I refuse to revise it in fear of deleting any passion I am currently feeling. Please tell me your opinions on this, I know it is a touchy subject but in my personal belief it should not be. It should not even be a topic in question at all, in my mind. I digress.

'You need to ask yourself the right questions. Has anything you've done made your life better?'
-American History X

Racism is, by definition, the belief that your race is inherently superior to others. Prejudice is an attitude or belief about something, which can or cannot be negative. While I believe that certain prejudices are inevitable, we all have our opinions, racism is an evil that is learned and built into our minds by society and our fucked up humanity. It bothers, disgusts, horrifies me that total racism can still exist to this day even in a society and world that is supposedly so advanced and intelligent. Is it really? It seems to me that we know less than we ever did, we just now have fancier means of communicating our bullshit.

Since being a 'racist' is such a social taboo nowadays, it's more closeted. However, it's so omnipresent that at times I feel suffocated by it. Even if you give shit a different name, it still looks and smells like shit. How many times in my life have I heard someone begin a statement with “I'm not racist” and then very clearly and distinctly make a completely racism-laden argument? To me, it just doesn't make sense. It just doesn't. It never has and it never will.
But even those of you who deem yourself so fucking forward-thinking, you're all simmering in it. You're all continuing it. Racism is ALWAYS going to exist as long as we allow it. Just as an example, one conversation I've heard commonly had is through many guy friends of mine discussing sexual partners of girls in question. They say they aren't racist, but if a girl has had sex with a black person that makes them automatically less attractive. How does that make sense? As long as we look at another person and see only their color, and give that color a negative connotation, we are never going to get anywhere. As long as we are acknowledging a difference nothing more than skin-deep, we have a problem.
Biologically, all humans are NINETY NINE POINT NINE PERCENT IDENTICAL. Our genetic makeup is the fucking same. Our differences are whats inside of us, inside our minds, not what is external. Our ethnicities are what build up any cultural differences that we have; you can have a white person born in any society and end up 'being' Asian, Jewish, French, African.
Therefore, what is the only thing separating us? The way we act. We can never be free if we always harbor these negative sentiments towards other human beings.

The way we are raised makes us who we are. The way we think makes us who we are. The way we handle our lives, makes us who we are. I believe that we all have the power to make ourselves better than what we are, we all have the tools within ourselves to become better than our environments. I accept that there are many obstacles that are nearly impossible to overcome, many horrors in lives that I can never begin to understand. But I believe that as long as we keep seeing ourselves as different and not accepting one another we can never have true equality amongst us. Why is it so hard? I don't understand.

I think things like Affirmative Action are only setting us back farther. It's making up for historical injustices that at this point in time shouldn't even be a part of the equation. One race shouldn't have the upper-hand by ANY means, whether it be unspoken or regulated by the government. If we acknowledge a difference in ourselves, we are CREATING the issue. True equality can only exist if we treat ourselves and each other as truly equal. If two people go for the same job or the same place in a college, they should get it ONLY by their accreditation and achievements, not by their color, no matter WHAT the color is. We should be who we are as INDIVIDUALS, not as a race.

I look in the mirror, and I see myself. I don't see a color, or a woman, or a label.

I see me.

What do you see?


After some more time spent pondering, I would also like to add that homophobia is pathetic. Another persons way of living has no effect on your own. If someone is a good human being, the question of the color of their skin or their sexual orientation should have no effect on your judgement of then. Who are YOU, who am I to judge another person? Especially on something so trite, something superficial? God bless the gays.
Also for all the Christian arguments, you can quote Leviticus 20:13 all you want ('If a man lies with a male as with a woman') and rant on about all this homosexuality being debauchery. But I will go so far out as to make the assumption your knowledge of not only the bible but of THAT VERY quote on which so many Christians base their hatred upon is nothing less than limited, and ask you, have you happened to have read Leviticus 19:19? No?
'You shall not sow your field with two different kinds of seed, nor shall you put on a garment made from two different materials.'
Not familiar with this? Well, go on shunning the homosexuals, but according to the bible you sitting there in your blended fabrics, you're going to hell too motherfucker.
And guess what? I believe in God too.

perspective

I remember the night I first knew he was someone I wanted to be with. And not just be with, REALLY be with. The precise moment when I realized I wanted every part of him every day, even the bad parts. I wanted to exist in his life and world and learn from him. It's a feeling that is somehow overwhelming, it makes the world both gigantic and simultaneously tiny. He's expanded my heart, and given me tunnel-vision. It's all a cliche and it's all cheesy, but he's my future.
This is how it happened, more or less. We were friends. We are still friends. He is younger than I am, I had just gotten out of a shitty relationship, so had he. There were so many reasons no. And yet, it was just right. Sometimes you meet another person, whether it be romantically or as a best friend, and despite any obstacles or potential problems, you just know within yourself that this is your path. I am happy every day. When I met him, I paid little attention. I am not the shy girl I was a few years ago, I am not the girl who scopes out each boy as a potential mate. I was just Being. As was he. We have mutual friends. We had fun in groups. We talked through electronic devices regularly. Then it stopped being regularly, and constantly. I moved to Richmond, I went out at night, I met new friends. I came home on weekends to work. We hung out. One night he swam in a pool and I sat at the edge, and when he surfaced for air, he smiled at me and placed his hand on the curve of my ankle while talking to me, and essentially from that moment on I was hooked.
One of the beautiful things about life is no matter how right you think you are or how much you believe in something, you can always be proved wrong. He did this for me about many of my ideas, especially about relationships with other people. He is someone I can be myself with and be happy every moment of the day. It is easy. It is right. He is understanding, and accepting, and listening. He does not tell me what to do. He is true. It makes me better, it fills me with pride.

One night we spent the night in his car because we had nowhere else to go. We talked for 6 hours straight. Our bodies were entangled and we were both drifting in and out of sleep, a comfortable and happy silence between us, and he whispered "I love you"
Never has it meant more, never could I have understood how powerful a statement that is.
I love you too.

contentment, and musings

This was written one day recently as I sat waiting for one of my classes to begin.

Being where I am now in life at times can be almost shocking. Though at the time they seemed never-ending, it's nearly as though I fast-forwarded through all the unhappy times of my youth and arrived here at lightning speed.
Here I sit, in a red sweater and pointy-toed shoes, drinking expensive coffee with my Blackberry-esque phone perched on my knee, on an over-cushioned chair awaiting my class to begin at my university. What is this madness? Inside, I feel nothing but peace, confidence, contentment. My life is now led by a series of choices made by ME. I am now the dictator. I am at the very place I have always wanted to be, I am who I always wished to become. I wonder sometimes if this is merely growing up, or if I am just lucky.
Because I do feel lucky, very much so, every day. Of course life is not easy, there are rough times and there is sadness. But as I gaze out this floor-to-ceiling window upon the city I now live, I am happy. I am home.

I had at one time thought my ex-boyfriend was the one for me, in my heart I am very loyal. But in retrospect the main things I learned from our relationship were how NOT to behave, to be treated, to love. In that way, I am thankful. Because while our story has ended and will never be wrapped up with a pretty bow, it will always exist within me and help make my future stories be happier ones.
I do not believe everything necessarily happens for a reason - sometimes bad things simply and inexplicably occur. But how you react and grow from the things that happen is what is important. Human life I believe is meant to be something of a struggle, but things are only as difficult as you make them. I am beginning to see life differently. If you love someone, love them. It is as easy as that.

sleepy

I want to know what it is about moving to this city that has made me perpetually exhausted.

I'm not complaining. Just confused, really.

My classes aren't that long, my schedule isn't that full, my classes aren't THAT early. I have plenty of time for naps.

And yet...I'm always TIRED.

I'm always sleepy. I'm practically falling asleep at my desk typing this.

Perhaps it is a conspiracy. VCU puts drowsy pills in my food, to make me sleepy, to make me perform poorly in classes, to make me pay them more tuition to stay in their school even longer.

Maybe it's my bed, the matress sort of feels like a half-deflated raft after all.

Maybe its my room-mate, the weird one, who always makes weird noises all night and turns off the AC while I'm sleeping and makes me wake up sweating.

Maybe it's these blogs I have to write, they keep me up at night, so stressful you know? What am I going to write about this week? What song can I possibly write a page and a half about?

It's probably all of these things. Definitely.

It can't have anything to do with me staying up til 2 talking to my boyfriend every night.

Or reading until 3:30am because I really want to finish the book (which has nothing to do with any of my classes).

Or procrastinating all of my homework until after I get off skype at 1:30am.

Or because it seems like a good idea to wake up in the middle of the night and go on facebook and eat pudding.

Yeah, it's definitely not anything I'M doing.

defense

In defense of...

Our good old patriarchal idealism’s. Seriously. It's great that in our so-called advanced society, we're still resorting to dated one-sided thinking about gender equality. In the olden days, we at least were up-front about our predjudices. Now we keep them hidden under the rug, we make shocked faces when speaking about it in public, we harbor it deeply in our hearts and sneakily.

Rather than generalizing, I will pinpoint my focus for this particular blog. My parents.

Double standards are second nature to them. It's stunning, the mastery they exemplify when saying one thing and doing another. This astounding quality presents itself most frequently in their raising of myself and my older brother. Growing up, neither of us were angels, but he messed up in far bigger manners than I did. Therefore my parents decision to love him more than me utterly makes more sense. As I would spend long days at home trying to impress my parents with my wit and my actual dedication to school and sports, my brother would drive his shitty insurances-less car over for visits and it was as though my mother would truly come to life. Springing out of her chair, she would offer to order him pizza, give him some money. I would ask myself, 'Self, didn't you just tell mother you were starving and she told you to fend for yourself? Yes, Self, that did happen. HMMM.'

This debauchery also presented itself in mine and my brothers' wishes for body modification. Like any teenagers, we both wanted tattoos and/or piercings to represent our individuality and how special we are. The difference is, at 17 my brother got a tattoo as a gift from my parents. When I was 17, my parents would not even allow me to get the impermanent hole in my nostril I so desperately wanted.

Thus this lead to my brother over the years getting more and more tattoos, and me getting my nose pierced without permission and thus getting in trouble.

As I got older, so did my friends. They began getting tattoos as well. My friend Amanda especially delved into the tattoo world, getting them frequently, big ones, expensive ones, beautiful ones. Ones she had to hide from HER parents, though she was over 18 and thus legally enabled to get the ink. When I told my mother about the tattoos and showed her pictures, she looked both shocked and disgusted, as if Amanda had cut off her own ear and had it sewn to her bicep for cosmetic purposes. “I think she has a problem, Kate.” my mom says each time Amanda gets a new one.

Fast forward, it's move in day. I'm moving into my college dorm, out of my parents home. I'm well over 18, almost nineteen. My friend Dana sits on the bed, watching my mom and I unpack, my mom is being nice to Dana about her tattoos.

“Mom, I'm going to get a tattoo.” I say.

Her eyes widen. “If you do, before you graduate college, you're not getting anything from me financially.”

I smile.

“But JD has tattoos!”

My mom is smiling, light hearted, because we are in the company of a friend. “That's different, JD is a boy. And I like Dana's tattoos, but she's not my daughter.”

I am flabbergasted. She seems very serious. Dana and I share a secretive, wide-eyed look, and the tattoo I already have on my shoulder seems to be guiltily pulsated under the Tshirt by which it is hidden.

I digress. This essay has not been very well-executed. What I'm trying to say, my point I'm trying to prove with sarcasm, is that everyone has double standards about men and women and even though as society we strive so hard to be 'equal', even little things like saying tattoos are okay on men and not women, are furthering our inequality. Either we're the same in all aspects, or we're not the same at all. So cut the bullshit. If my brother can have 8 tattoos, half of then looking hood rat prison-esque, then I can get as many as I damn well please. WORD.

forbidden?

The first time I saw her, it was like a vision. One of those rare moments in life where you feel connected to God, to heaven, to every realm of the universe that is so much more than you will ever be. I remember being at a loss for words, a loss for air, a loss for sane thought. She swayed into my life, confidence exuding from every poor on her tiny body, my heart thudding love songs behind my rib cage.

I am a man of rationality, I always have been. I've prided myself in logical thinking for all the years in my life. It was what got me through 8 years of college, what earned me my PH.D, what got me through long nights of being over-stressed and over-worked. I know how the world works, and I live my life in a very formulaic way. Thus most relationships in my life have been nothing short of clinical.

My first wife and I were brought together by biology, my junior year of college. We had similar ambitions, similar lifestyles, in this way we established a relationship – there was no passion, no rawness to us. Our divorce was similar, it was smooth and emotionless, just another pile of paperwork on my desk. Essentially, I am a realist. I don't even dream in my sleep.

48 years into my life, and this is all changed. I wonder now, how this can be. In every persons life there is the moment, I think, when you suddenly realize that everything you thought, everything you believed, was so irrevocably wrong. She was mine.

All she had to do was walk into my kitchen, as I was methodically preparing dinner at 7pm as I did every weeknight. She walked slightly on her tip toes, her smooth calves leading up to jean shorts, a man's button-down shirt left unbuttoned over a tight tank top, her golden hair spilling down her back. Her eyes, blue, framed with millions of pure-black lashes, giant, staring at me. I had become deaf, paralyzed, dead. I had died, right there, in my kitchen, in the sight of an angel.

She has beautiful, she was everything I had never dreamed. She was my daughter's best friend.

In life you are handed many choices, and there is always a distinction whether it be clear or nearly undetectable – there is always a right and a wrong. Which you choose is always determined by your knowledge of the situation, or lack thereof. That was always my belief, but after the day I met Julia, I began to realize that the knowledge of what is 'right' does not always help, when what is wrong is what you need. When every bone in your body yearns for it, when your mind never sleeps, when you feel at last that you have a soul. When you have lived a life was lifeless as mine, and you finally feel a fire burning inside of you, it is almost insane to think of letting it pass by.

I could say there was nothing I could do to escape it, but that would be a lie. Of course I could have walked away, I could have done something. But I wouldn't.

Her eyes, when they beheld me, seemed to come alive. I like to believe that my daughter noticed nothing, but I know in my heart this cannot be true. From the very first moment, the passion was tangible. It filled up the room, it drowned us. I couldn't keep away from her, I couldn't close my mouth. When my hands finally touched her skin, it was though my flesh was on fire. Pushed against the wall, her body hard against mine, our lips together. I had found God.

It was like a game after a while. We had established rules, there was an etiquette to us. While we pretended what we were doing was normal, we knew it was not allowed. We hid in the shadows, we let ourselves blossom together, but only in the dark. It could be seen as a terrible way to exist, yet it was beautiful. I had my muse, I had beauty in every moment of my day. The first time our bodies joined together, I felt inhuman. Her legs wrapped around me, her hair cascading over my own face. Life had become heaven, I would die for this.

I became sick. This is normal, once you become old. Death is as inevitable a part of life as anything. But it is the one part we as humans try so hard to forget. As weeks trickled by, I began to feel Death become a part of me. It existed in my core, it existed with my blood and organs. It waited to swallow me whole. It makes sense that when I had at last found reason to be alive, I would die. What is a good story, after all, without a tragic ending?

I told no one, even when I began to feel my body deteriorate from the inside out. I was rotting, I felt as though pieces of me were falling off and being left behind each day. Each day that I saw her became nearly too much to handle. My heart felt as though it could explode. I was too happy, I was too fucking sad. The beauty, the beauty of her. I never had to tell her. One day, she looked into my eyes, and she knew. The young body, it possessed terribly old eyes. She said nothing, only looked at me, then slowly wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tighter and closer, tighter and closer. I never cried, but my heart nearly broke as I felt her tears drop slowly, one by one, down my back.

“I love you.” She whispered into my ear, into my hair, her breath hot and quick on my neck. “I love you, I will always.” Her voice was broken, as broken as her heart, as broken as my body. I did nothing but hold her back, feel the frailness of her thin body, her smooth skin under my old calloused hands. I did nothing.

thanks

Thank you God, for Netflix. If I did not have you, my life would be desolate and barren. I would shed tears each day for my life, a life void of meaning. A life void of Nip/tuck.

Thank you, Cheeze-its. If not for you, I would be constantly hungry. I would have no caring companion to nibble on when bored, when lonely. When hungry, and lacking companions to dine with. Thank you.

Thank you, polka-dot bedsheets from Target. You are comfy, and adorable. You give me a nice place to lay my body on, that pleases me both physically and aesthetically.

Thank you Starbucks in the library. Thank you for making me wait in the long line, being shouted at for my order, for a drink that tastes like shit. Thank you.

Thank you Jersey Shore. Thank you for preoccupying all of my peers' minds with your nefarious antics. Thank you for introducing new and idiotic things into my culture. Thank you for making me giggle at Snooki whenever I feel low.

Thank you, air-conditioner in my room. Even though you get turned off by my evil roommate whenever my back is turned or whenever I am not home, you are always eager to be turned on again and cool me down instantly. Thank you.

Thank you Skype. On the nights you decide to actually work properly, you provide me with lovely face-to-face contact with my boyfriend that I would be unable to have otherwise, aside from weekends. On the nights you don't work, for no apparent reason, thank you for the added frustration and suicidal/murderous thoughts you give me. Thank you.

Thank you, bathroom in Johnson Hall. Thank you for having broken lights so my showers are always dim. Thank you for always getting black hair on me, mysteriously. Thank you for smelling bad.

Thank you facebook, for providing my ex boyfriend an extra means of stalking me when I refuse to text him back, on the grounds he is a douchebag.

Thank you Tuesdays/Thursdays, for being my favorite days, because the classes don't suck.

Thank YOU.