“We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others.” ― Lois Lowry, The Giver We’re taught from an early age that our future is what we make of it. We can be whatever we want to be, and we can do whatever we want to do. This dream is instilled in us at such an impressionable young age that even when we break through the illusion as adults, we continue to cling to
I felt happy. A little distracted but happy nonetheless as I sat with my mentee during a senior send-off event earlier this week in East Harlem. I never doubted her abilities to graduate from high school or to get accepted into college. No, it was something else that made me happy as I sat on the dust-smeared, plastic chair in the blue-draped room, the school’s primary color washed under the bright white fluorescents. Whatever challenges
If we were having coffee… I’d tell you that Life is the utmost asshole. Of course, I don’t have a monopoly on this sentiment and you’d likely nod in understanding. Only, you’d do so without understanding the specific context in which I cry out against Life with shaking fists. I feel beat. I’ve felt beat for some time. I’ve finally been beaten.
“Do you want traditional Thanksgiving or subversive Thanksgiving dinner?” I was intrigued. This was the first Thanksgiving M and I weren’t traveling. I assumed we were going to do some adaptation of the traditional dinner — like turkey tacos or sandwiches or burgers — but that question made me pause. Why should we do a traditional dinner?
She was, by all accounts, the cutest dog I’ve ever met. Short, black fur covering her lean body, and a white tip on the tail–all of which turned an interesting palette of grayed black, white, and brown as she got older. Her snout, in relation to her head and body, was the perfect length. Her height: not too tall to be a huge dog, and not too short to be uncomfortably small. She was of
Previously: None of this is a good approach on how to go to college after high school. None of it. And this was only a sliver of the problems I experienced as an undergraduate, living thousands of miles away from the nearest family member, in a completely different time zone and country from immediate family. It could’ve been better That’s what I always tell myself. But, of course, it could’ve been better. Anything can always
All white people are racist. That was the cliffhanger the trainers left us with on a Saturday evening. We just spent eight hours together dissecting racism and its nuances. There were about 50 of us gathered in this room, mapping out the emotional versus the structural perceptions of racism. We attempted to define racism. Maybe we succeeded. Maybe not.