It is hard for me to feel.
Rather, it is difficult for me to convey my emotions. I do not want to be a self-serving person. In the face of protests that arise in opposition to systematic violence, I find myself anxious. I'm afraid that I'm not accomplishing the act in activism enough. I fear caring too much or not at all, in the pursuit of self-preservation. Although, I may not stand on the front lines or yell from the top of my lungs, expelling the fear, the anger, the anguish of these deaths, these threats, these calls for justice...my body absorbs it all.
My body feels it. It carries the weight around, like a bag lady stepping in time to the soulful sounds of Erykah Badu. Each step becomes arduous with the heavy weight of the bags. These bags are designer, specially modified for my own predicament. One bag is Robin's Egg blue, engraved in cursive across its handle is its name, Racism. The next bag is baby pink called, Sexism. Another is emerald green called, Classism. And there are others of different shapes and sizes, piled one on top of the other, spilling over with lies, deceit, and pain built up from a past that I do not remember. These are bags from my ancestors and from theirs. These are bags from my friends who are enduring their own wars. From allies who will never fully understand, so they place their bags on top of my own.
The violence is not new. It is not different. It is curdled milk sitting in the back of the refrigerator. We have all known that it has been bad for a very long time, but that didn't matter until you drunk it. The violence persists, but it isn't until now that it has mattered to you.
Where is the solidarity, the Instagram posts, the new icons on Facebook for the thousands who have died and continue to die in the face of adversity, of hate, of hunger? Where is the compassion? Where is this feeling of responsibility? Of love? Why can you not feel this pain, this love for anyone but your own?
As I write this, I feel conflicted. I feel pain. I feel the need to love harder. To fight deeper and longer. To live selfishly and selflessly. To call to those in Paris and say, I'm here for you and I love you. To call to those in Beirut and say, I'm here for you and I love you. To call to those in Mizzou and say, I'm here for you and I love you. To look at myself in the mirror and say, "I'm here for you and I love you."
I'm here for you and I love you.
