Race doesn’t matter we’re all going to end up Brazilian anyway

Before I get started… The reference for the title is in the last line of this article: What Will Future Humans Look Like?

A while back a friend of mine asked me if I was proud of who I am.  Now normally this would be a very personal question.  Am I proud of my accomplishments and goals and who I am right now, but we had been discussing race at that moment.  Race is a fun topic with her because neither of us are overly protective of our race, and neither of us are racist so we aren’t trying to be offensive to each other.  So we have occasionally talked about the ups and downs or our skin color.  Like how I’m way more likely to get sunburned (as evidenced the weekend after our talk) than she is.

In that context being asked if I was proud was a foreign concept to me.  I know that the idea of black pride is a big deal.  My friend has confirmed that for me.  For “ethnic” people (I would argue that since white people also have ethnicities the term ethnic for people with darker skin is ridiculous) having pride in their heritage is a huge deal.  Not really the case with white people.  In fact if someone uttered the phrase “white pride” it would sound like they needed an application to the KKK.

From childhood when race is talked about white people are the bad guys.  The Europeans that ran around the world throwing out the natives and forcing them to become more European, slavery, the Jim Crow laws, all around us is evidence of the evil white people that have ruined the lives of dark skinned people for generations.  So where is the pride?

For a long time it was actually shame.  I was ashamed to be white for a very long time because I saw what white people had done in the past.  I had seen what white people are doing now.  Growing up near a reservation for Native Americans that also has a fairly high Mexican population meant I actually saw quite a bit of racially motivated hatred and I was ashamed.

Now, whites being racist is not the only racism I have witnessed.  People are racist against whites as well.  I got myself in a somewhat tense situation when I was in a predominantly black area and ended up offending a guy because I am white. That was the only reason.  I was a white girl and he didn’t think I belonged there.  I was actually there for an appointment, I had every reason and right to be there.  I tried to keep going and not get into with him and his friends but he thought I needed to be taught something I guess (thankfully he was a verbal teacher).

I was then yelled at for being presumptuous for being in their area and after all the things my ancestors had done how dare I trespass, or something like that.  I’m not so naive as to say I don’t have racist ancestors… I’m not so naive as to promise no one in my family right now is racist, but my family never had slaves in America.  They were either here after the whole slavery thing or they lived in the wrong part of the country.  Basically, thanks for the history lesson but while your family was enslaved in the South my ancestors were in various European countries killing each other; no racism necessary, just good old-fashioned hatred.

But more than that, I’m not racist.  I don’t see skin color.  Okay actually that is just a ridiculous statement because, I have eyes and, I can see someones skin color, but I don’t care enough for it to stick in my memory.  I’ve had to stop and think about the answer to the question “she’s the black RA right?” “Um… Maybe?  Erm… Yes! Yes, she is”  BECAUSE I DON’T CARE.  My performance has nothing to do with my skin color and I don’t expect yours to have anything to do with yours.

Want my respect?  Treat me with respect.  Want my friendship? Be a friend.  You do your best and I’ll do mine and let’s judge on performance shall we?

So am I proud? No, I’m not.  To be honest, I’m still ashamed.  Not because I think white people are inherently evil racists (because again, White and not racist) but because now we allow people to be racist against us while we bow our heads in submission “I’m so sorry, we will do better.  Yes please berate me for something that I had nothing to do with except sharing the same skin pigmentation as the perpetrator.”

I am sorry.  Slavery is horrible, hate crimes are evil, judging someone because of the color of their skin is wrong.  It is completely wrong.  But I didn’t do it.  Don’t treat me badly because I’m white and justify it with history.  Treat me the way I treat you, as an independent entity not responsible for the sins of the past.

And what’s more, this defenseless “we are ashamed” approach actually fuels the fire for more racial hatred in the future.  Because in the worst case scenario white people become oppressed because of the color of their skin.  People can see this scenario, some people are very afraid of this scenario and the fear will drive them to do something extreme.

On the KKK’s official website they have a section where they are saying why people should join their political party.  They say because things are getting bad enough that “white Christian Americans” will stop thinking about the violent past of the KKK.  Instead “They will only stop to consider…”NO ONE is speaking out on behalf of my white Christian heritage and family…NO ONE but the Klan!”

And they are right; some people will think about that.  Some people will lash out, some people will take it too far.

As technology advances the world becomes smaller.  It is no longer about the evil white people forcing change.  Change is happening everywhere spurred on by everyone who can spur.  By sitting by passively and allowing it to appear that the only people who will stand up for the rights of white people is the KKK we are asking for trouble.  By allowing racist jokes because “it’s all in fun” we are asking for trouble.  By refusing to acknowledge skin color because it’s a taboo subject we are, you guessed it, asking for trouble.  I am white I have black friends, I have brown friends, hell maybe I have yellow friends, and naming their color isn’t offensive it’s descriptive.   We are all the same where it counts.

There’s no place like home, but I don’t want your ruby red slippers.

Home.

Dorothy loved it.  People die to defend it.  Think about this word, it’s so simple.  So small, only 4 letters; H-O-M-E.

What does it mean to you?

Merriam-Webster has 6 different definitions for “Home”

1. One’s place of residence.
2. The social unit formed by a family living together.
3. A familiar or usual setting : congenial environment
4. A place of origin
5. An establishment providing residence and care for people with special needs.
6. The objective in various games.

#6 refers to things like home plate in baseball and homebase in tag.  In these games home is where you are safe from the attacks of the opposition.  Where you know you are protected.

#5 talks about places where loved-ones are sent to be taken care of when you can’t do it yourself; this is supposed to be a place where they are cared for.

#3 Uses the word congenial (I love that word) “pleasant or agreeable because it is suited to one’s taste or inclination”.  Such a great word right!

While my record has nothing on military brats, I moved quite a bit as a kid.  “home” has been a lot of places.  It was synonymous with “house”.  In addition to my mom’s house, my dad’s house, and where ever I am living at the time,  My home town in general, and the town where my school is, all called “home”.

One thing I have been asked many times in the last 7-1/2 months is a variation of “do you miss home much?”  To which I always

America-The bestie

answer, “well, yeah” and depending on who I am talking to I leave it there.  Sometimes we continue talking and I say, “but not as much as I’m ‘supposed’ to.” (Because there is really a way to measure how much one is supposed to miss home.)

Don’t get me wrong, there are some things that I really miss.  Taco Bell; that one surprised me.  Walking around and knowing history, having stories about the place I am in.  Mostly, the people; I miss my best friend and the fact that we accept each other and not trying to “fix”.  We just are.  I miss my mom, I miss the little ones in my family. (This is not to say I don’t miss other people… These are just the people in mind right now)

America- A couple of the little ones

But I don’t ache for them the way some of my friends have told me they miss their family. I wish I had the time to skype with them more often, but I am living my life here and I don’t really notice a lot of the time. (And I do skype some!! Above pics prove it 😀 )

In fact, this week, I have had to face something that I have been secretly, and mostly subconsciously, dreading.  I had to look at tickets back to the US.  And that is when it hit me.  When I talk about the end of the year, that is the sentence I say, “when I go back to the US/America.”  I don’t talk about going home; because I do not feel like I am going home, I’m leaving it.

I had a friend tell me once about his experiences with “home.”  He told me that he had communities where he found a place, but that it wasn’t until a certain location that he felt “home.”  I thought he was putting a little too much on this poor little word.

Christmas banquet. The only time I saw that many Brits at Newbold at once 😉

Apparently, it has broader shoulders than I believed.  This friend is actually now part of home for me.  He’s kind of like the big brother that I wish I could spend more time with, I’m always glad to see him, and knowing that he is doing well and good things are happening for him gives me a measure of joy and peace.

Even though I miss things in the states, I will miss here more.  The people and the places are precious.  Sure I don’t have the history here I have in America, but that can be grown, I only have the history I have because I took the time to live it in the first place.

The Elephant House, Edinburgh with some awesome fellow study abroaders.

Church puppet show. Abraham was a caveman, I was Isaac, and then there was… LIZZIE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

America is like this surreal dream, and my reality is where I am now.  I know that this is partially because what is in front of you is always a bit more solid, but I know that isn’t entirely my situation here.

I have found a special niche here, a place to grow and change; to develop into a me that would have been hard pressed to emerge in America.  I love it here and I love who I have been becoming here.

What I like best about home plate in baseball is that it is where the players start and where they end, if they make if that far.  I may not make it back here but I know this much: these last couple of months in England will be preparation for a beginning, not an ending.

Just chilling with my homie Hamlet in Stratford-Upon-Avon

First semester. Best. Roomie. Ever. ❤

Not to be outdone by the best Finn ever! (In this pic we are in a cafe that used to be a public toilet. Sounds gross, is actually awesome.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I am a little picture happy tonight… Deal with it.

 

 

 

 

 

Two thoughts meld into one, in the vaguest possible way.

There are few things I find as quietly worrying as a certain friend of mine looking at me and simply saying “interesting”; this is, of course, in response to something that I said.  And then he goes right back to a different conversation!

Not that someone calling me interesting is inherently worrisome but, with this guy, it tends to mean plotting; possibly only the beginning stages of plotting, and soon it will be vague comments and calling me out in front of a group of friends. (*cough cough* the reason I started a blog *cough cough*)

Also, I have absolutely no idea why what I just said is “interesting” so I’m totally lost!  And I can’t just ask him, because he’s into another conversation already… Not that he would answer me anyway.  Devious, obnoxious, scheming little- but I digress.

Today I went to a pretty awesome concert (using the term loosely, classical music and lasers…) at the Royal Albert Hall called Classical Spectacular.  If one is near London and hasn’t gone one should go.  It was (to quote another friend of mine) “of the dopeness.”

What do these two things have to do with each other?  Well, to be honest, nothing whatsoever apart from they both happened today, but shall we keep going to see if I can pull a connection?  I think yes.

I love, love, love, if you didn’t get it, LOVE concerts; even and especially classical music concerts.  This genre is the epitome of the combination of math and art, creating the wonderful thing we call music.  Love it.  However, the good is also the bad, music is supposed to inspire the imagination and call upon a world long lost; which it does, and I get lost in a world of my own, the music becomes a backtrack to the thoughts in my head.

I have this thought, a tiny little nudge in my mind I assumed long dead.  Long dead became resurrected in the Royal Albert Hall tonight.  Dreaming, what if-ing, planning (if you can call it that), became my evening (with the most awesome pulls into the now from an orchestra I’m glad to not have missed.)

Coming back to campus I thought about my mental meanderings and wondered about why this came up now.  No, I’m not going to out the specifics of this thought to the ever expanding internets; I don’t need the pressure.

My interesting friend who dubs me (or at least some vague comments I say) “interesting.”  He is on a specific path that I find myself… curious about.  Hmm… What now, what now?

I have no idea.

I guess it all comes down to an orange.

Haha, maybe I’ll explain that someday.

 

Orange.

Did you really just say music?

Blog post… Haven’t done that in a while, figured maybe I should do that; considering I have this handy personalized URL and all.  As some of you may have noticed I have the words “music therapist” as part of the description for this blog, which would indicate musical interest, but I haven’t really mentioned music in any of my posts.  And, well, to be honest I probably won’t.  To be even more honest it’s because I don’t think there is much to say about music.

Now, before every music major I know gets together to form the moderately sized lynch mob I know they are capable of I just would like to clarify a few things about the above phrase.  I believe music is important and in many ways I think like a musician.  In many other ways, I don’t (hence wannabe music therapist, not just wannabe musician, mkay?).

Every culture has music; it is a part of people’s daily lives on such a fundamental level that sometime you only realize it was there once it is gone.  That is beautiful, that means that music has this almost completely unique potential to unite everyone (if people would get off their me-versus-the-world’s-horrible-taste-of-music snob kick and actually let music do its job).  That’s amazing, and unquantifiable.

But at the same time, music is totally quantifiable.  The very basis of how we play music is quantifiable.  Certain keys/strings/holes are supposed to play at a certain frequency that makes a certain noise that, if played properly, will blend with another key/string/hole that plays on a different (and yet wonderfully complimentary) frequency.

Additionally, we have time signatures; the basic one being 4/4 time also known as common time or simply “C”.  Music is divided into measures or bars where a whole note gets 4 beats which takes the entire bar.  We also have half notes, quarter notes, eighths, sixteenths etc. etc.

That last bit was not just a lesson in fundamental music (apologies to those who just read that last bit thinking “duh,” but there are some who don’t know that stuff, so deal with it); that was pure math, kid.  Music is not just performance art or expression, it is mathematical!  It is precise and controlled.  Music is this all-encompassing thing.

I won’t talk about music that often because to me everything is music.  I hear it in the sounds I hear coming from the London streets right now; I hear it in the forest noises back home.  Life has a beat and a rhythm and I see/hear music in everything I do and encounter.  I feel the emotional aspect and I understand the intellectual aspect.

Alright, maybe I do think like a musician… I can’t say I’ve ever been in one’s head so I don’t really know what it looks like.  My point is this- I am not going to ramble on about how this was so beautiful or that was sublime because of whatever musical aspect I read into that particular mundane bit of my life; I would get bored with myself if I did that, and if I’m bored of me I guarantee you will be bored with me.

But as you are reading what I have to say don’t forget that everything I know, everything I see and interpret, is done through the filter of music.  Beautiful, complicated, precise, messy, personal music; that is my base reference point.

If this doesn’t make sense to you that’s okay; not everyone will understand my draw to music.  Maybe you have academia or art or drama or or or, there is an endless list of “or” that could be added.  The thing that you understand and can use to understand other things, your passion, that’s all I’m trying to explain.

If you don’t understand that all I can say is that I hope you find your passion someday.  It makes life much more interesting.