trying to convince myself
i am allowed
to take up space
is like writing with
my left hand
when i was born
to use my right
- the idea shrinking is hereditary
Contemporary Canadian feminist poet, writer and spoken word artist Rupi Kaur is able to reflect the thoughts of many within her collection of poetry, "Milk and Honey." I gave my mother my copy of this collection as if it were a sacred collection of secrets written by one women, read by another, and passed along to a third. She continues to read it at her own pace, and that’s all I can ask for.
But, I need validation.
The importance of hearing your thoughts from the mouth of another is an underrated wonder. Regardless of what these thoughts may be, the power of simple of validation speaks volumes to the drought soul desperate for affirmation. We seek validation on both a large scale—celebrities, media, television, novels, authors, music — and a smaller, more intimate scale — within our peers, our family, and those close to us. Validation is near a necessity; we need to know that we are not alone, and that we are not abnormal. Kaur’s poem, whether it was intentional or not, both validates and normalizes a sensation felt by countless members of a minority populace across a nation.
And such a shame it is that we rarely take the validation offered by those around us to heart. We fall back to “friendship fallacies,” or, rather, the underlying feeling that those around us simply say what we’d like to hear. We often distrust the words of those around us for fear of good-natured white lies.
It is just like a friend to tell you that you look lovely in the outfit you’re wearing, or that the idea you’ve presented is most definitely “normal.” Friends say these things because they feel as if it is their job. They’re required to make a friend feel better about their thoughts, even if this verbal affirmation is not entirely true to their own concepts. We are all guilty of saying something we have not meant in order to spare the feelings of those around us, but this very action which attempts to ‘help’ those close to us often does the opposite. By not being entirely forward and truthful in one’s word, one creates a disconnect and an element of distrust between themselves and the one they are attempting to spare.
If we cannot find validation from those close to us, we look to a larger scale. How rare it is, however, to look to the television and to find someone that mirrors your own existence in ways that are neither forced or flawed. When African-American characters are no longer typecast as thugs and demonized as an enemy, I’ll be content.
How I’ve sought out people like myself, and how often have I found difficulty yielding results. If I want to find someone that looks like myself in media, I have to make an effort. I need to dig in order to find my own sense of normalcy. And as an “adult”, I’ve come to peace with this. Reflecting back, however, growing up in a world where my being was always considered an outlier was very jarring.
In second grade, maybe third, all the other children could hold their breath, scrunch their eyes, puff out their cheeks, and turn their faces red on will. It was odd and fascinating to see my peers change colors like overgrown chameleons, and everyone could do it if they tried hard enough. Everyone but myself. My skin was dark, my cheeks weren’t changing tones anytime soon, but I tried my hardest. And I stood in front of cloudy bathroom mirrors, and underneath swing sets, and I held my breath until I saw stars, and nothing happened.
To this day, I think of the first "Toy Story." The scenes leading up to Buzz Lightyear realizing that he is not a space ranger, but a toy model of one.
A sense of normality for minorities might only be found tucked away between the pages of "Cinderella," "Snow White ," or any other fairy tale realm that suits ones fancy. It simply doesn’t exist. How can one feel normal when the projected image of American expectation is so far in the outfield, so far off-course, that it’s become nearly unrecognizable? I am no space ranger, and I don’t have nearly enough flashing lights embedded into my shoulders to be one.
