I love to write; nay I loved to write. There was always a gleam of unseen life that existed in my head when I’d write stories in my primary school compositions. There was an innocence that allowed me to see the beauty in the mundane and allow myself to imagine possibilities that were not supported by my circumstances. I wish I’d saved such compositions so I could regain that
I find myself devoid of the positivity necessary to write anything of meaning. As I have solidified my status as a legal alien in North America as one side of a scale, the weight of what that encompasses disproportionately weighs me down, causing regret and a dissatisfaction with my current existence that may seem unreasonably negative.
The subject of my current displeasure is a human resources director, who knowingly or not, has made it her mission to frustrate me by pointing out my inadequacies; real or imagined. A person whose very job title includes the title “diversity” spends more time highlighting my differences and ways in which that signifies a ‘lack-of”. Every time I tell myself my skin is too thick to withstand simple microaggressions, she manages to make me forget my vow to rise above it all.
Then I think of people who faced way worse than I did: I think of Nina Simone, penning “Mississippi goddamn” during the height of the civil rights movement. How brave was she to express herself so eloquently, as only a curse sometimes may, knowing full well that the risk she faced from such acts was death itself. This humbles me yes and makes me snap out of the pity-party that is in full swing inside my head.
Yet it does not invalidate the fact that in this day and age; at my age, I should be dealing with issues of a higher calling than petty discrimination. It upsets me to no end that even as the world is facing an existential crisis in the form of Covid-19, people like me are facing it a little tougher; either from lack of social support or from occurrences such as this https://thegrio.com/2020/05/04/white-privilege-crowded-parks-nyc/, which highlight that lady justice is only colour-blind in so far as she doesn’t see black or brown hues.
I want to sit down one day and write a song; a soliloquy to how great life is. A recognition of fulfilled dreams or a ‘sending positive vibes’ letter to my children as they enter adulthood.
I will write that one day: in this world or the next
But today, my tired bones just need to grovel and question the point of it all!