I’m a black woman. Should I be allowed to shoot any white person who approaches me because, “I was in fear for my life”? At the rate in which white people are mercilessly killing black people, I have just as much a right to racial profile all white people as potential threats as white people have to profile me. I already don’t like going to malls or movie theaters in areas that are predominantly white, but now I have legitimate fear for my safety because, the white murderers keep getting away with it. Everyone is getting the message that it’s okay to murder a black person in cold blood because, you’re scared (and for no other reason). All I know about our society is that, my black life isn’t worth a white life.
I know all white people are not the same, but I have to look at every one of them as possible threats because, a lot of them will look at me the same way. I have to not only be proactive in avoiding rape — because, apparently the responsibility is on women to prevent it — but I have to make sure I don’t give a white person any reason to suspect I’m dangerous or have ill-intent. I have to keep myself safe by changing my behavior so that the people who are actually dangerous don’t target me.
How fucked up is that.
I think the only thing that surprises me these days is other people’s ability to be surprised. We’re living in a repeat and we know how the story goes. Why are people still shocked by the details? If I’ve learned anything from history, it’s that we don’t actually learn from it. The past is just a blueprint for the future; the cycle continues because, people haven’t changed. Maybe someday we will. That would be a surprise.
Fuck Fitting In has always been a place where I’d write about my experiences and vent my emotions. I have treated this blog as as a space for me to be more intimate than I am elsewhere. Over the years, this site has undergone many resets, as I’ve grown bored — or disappointed, or ambivalent — about the things I’d written and the candor of my previously-published posts. So, as is the norm, I have again decided to refresh this blog. I have always used writing as a way to express myself and my blogs have always tended to be very candid and personal. But while blogging about my life is cathartic, it does not encompass everything I wish to convey. I have decided to modify this site by removing posts I no longer find relevant and republishing others that feel appropriate. I want this site to be a place where I can focus my writing and find my voice. My writing here will be all over the place, but it will not be stifled. I’ll still be very open about my personal life, but I’ll also write more about everything else. I’ll discuss things I experience first-hand, as well as talk about things that are happening in the world. I’ll obsess over things I’m a fan of and share my thoughts and opinions on the media — books, film, and television — that I consume. I hope to write more and communicate better.
If you’ve read this, thank you. Welcome, and enjoy.
I am just tired of exclusive categories. We have this way of looking at the world where, if it’s not one thing it’s the other. What the fuck is that about? The problem with this shitty ass planet is that we have to define every single thing in these small-minded and trivial ways. Like, our minds can’t process information if it isn’t given to us in an either-or scenario. Like if it’s not black, it must be white. If it’s not big, it must be small. If it’s not round, it must be square. We don’t seem to be able to acknowledge the variety that exists between the two opposing sides. There are infinite ways of being. There is no one way — no goddamn formula — for being anything we are. There are commonalities that help us relate to one another, but those similarities do not make us the same. Because, shit overlaps. We are all capable of being different variations of everything, we don’t exist in either-or, we exist on a spectrum. Some of us exist on extreme sides of our spectrum, and some of us are neutral, but we all have infinite possibility. Stop looking at shit as one or the other because, often we land somewhere near the middle.
I do this weird thing where I start writing a story and stop almost immediately, so it ends up being a really catchy snippet or brief scene, but something I can do very little with. I have many of these saved and I don’t know what to do with them. It’s possible I could cobble them together and see what comes of it, but apart of the reason they’re so hard to work with, is that they’re really specific and really random. I have two or three paragraphs about hating cats. Seriously. I have characters narrating as though they’re thinking the story as they’re navigating it; like self-aware, but not directly speaking to the reader. It’s a lot of random scenes and smart quips and good ideas, but nothing that feels strong enough to build upon. I want to write more. I want to create new characters and think of new stories and try to do something unique and entertaining, even if it’s just for me. I want to be able to write more than a few paragraphs. I want to be able to create freely and without distraction or self-criticism. My goal is to take at least one of these snippets and create a complete thing out of it; be it a short story or a chapter from a larger planned work. I want to my writing to grow from the seeds I’ve planted and I hope I can finish something.