Safety, my mom
A diary entry from a year ago.
I went to my high school home last week to spend time with my safety, old friends, and my brothers. It’s an imprisoned feeling to be brightened by one space and exhausted by the system surrounding it.
A person told me he was sorry for my race while at a bar drinking with my friends.
A person stared me down from their window while I took a solo stroll around Lake Tahoe.
A person asked me if I was lost as I was walking to meet friends of ten years at a trailhead four blocks from where I attended high school.
I am so tired of it.
I am so blessed because my safety allows me to mainly feel tired, instead of mostly offended and mentally unstable, or physically and economically chained. I know my blessings and exhaustion come from the same place. I know my exhaustion is what propelled me to move to NY, to feel less weighed down in Bedstuy, to feel alive in Ethiopia. But why does this system get to dictate where I can feel ok?
As a youngin’ I didn’t think twice about my family’s ideologies, how it impacted our subconscious decisions. People walked home or hitched rides in their school team gear from parties. My safety didn’t allow hoodies at night. She came to pick us up. She kept us away from being gripped.
This safety doesn’t last forever. Some people don’t have it at all. Having it is cursed. Not having it is cursed. This curse is the system of laws, buildings, roads, symbols, practices, beliefs…
My little brother is the least exhausted of us three. By the third child our safety witnessed more and tightened her net. Race didn’t barrage his existence as much. He didn’t make decisions based on this exhaustion my older brother and I felt. This colorblindness in the individual and the system should be a blessing. Here it’s a curse. His pure love walked him straight into the red knuckled grip of white privilege.
He will walk out.
Sending love to everyone who feels tired or worse. May those that weren’t able to unclench the fist in this life, live in peace in the next one.