chxtney-blog

[chxtney-blog]

[The Intellectual] is an individual with a specific public role in society that cannot be reduced simply to being faceless professional, a competent member of a class just going about her/his business... the intellectual is an individual endowed with a faculty for representing, embodying, articulating a message, a view, an attitude, philosophy or opinion to, as well as for a public... whose place it is publicly to raise embarrassing questions, to confront orthodoxy and dogma (rather that to produce them), to be someone who cannot easily be co-opted by governments or corporations, and whose raison d'etre is to represent all those people and issues that are routinely forgotten or swept under the rug.

Edward Said

[chxtney-blog]

Everyone’s been on that Caribbean wave since Drake came out with Views last year (if you ask me, it actually started when Drake remixed Ramriddlz’s “Sweeterman”). While unfortunate that actual Dancehall and Soca tracks are frequently ignored, it’s undeniable that the diluted Caribbean sound has been garnering the attention of people worldwide.

And an artist who's got the tropical R&B sound on lock is Lay Coast.

Mysterious and seemingly unknown, this New York native has been releasing tracks since late 2015, even coming out with an entirely self-produced EP in August of last year.

Lay Coast blends Caribbean rhythms with the type of sultry, slow vocals we see coming from Toronto to create a refreshing, upbeat, yet chill blend. I highly suggest taking a peek at his Soundcloud. My personal favorites by him include “Feels”, “Bounce”, “Maica”, and “Santa Cruz.”

[chxtney-blog]

Los Angeles is synonymous with glamour, fame, and opulence, but there's a side to the City of Angels that often gets overlooked. Gregory Bojorquez, through his wonderful street photography, gives a glimpse into the raw, the real Eastern part of the city.

In his work, Bojorquez highlights the life of the diverse community he hails from. He captures parents, children, friends, lovers, people and their day-to-day moments with his lense. Unexaggerated and unromanticized, his rather simplistic approach paints a relatable picture of his subjects. One can sense the appreciation he has for his community by the way he playfully documents the simple joys, sadnesses, and occurrences. His style is a refreshing change from the theatrical and exaggerated art heavily associated with southern California city.

Bojorquez street photography bring life and humanizes a community that is often unjustly vilified and criminalized. Though the natives of the lesser-known East L.A. may not be living the Hollywood lifestyle, they still enjoy, love, celebrate, cherish, and live as wholeheartedly as anyone else in their city.

Bojorquez's work is currently being exhibited at the Galerie Bene Taschen in Cologne, Germany until the 29th of September.

[chxtney-blog]

Taking Ctrl With SZA

Life changing albums are few and uncommon, and Sza's Ctrl is definitely one of those rare gems. No piece of art better addresses the insecurities, the vulnerability, and the uncertainty accompanied with the transition to adulthood. Growing up means coming to terms with the fact that a lot of questions will be unanswered. Realizing that you won't necessarily end up where you thought you'd be. Accepting that the people you desperately cling onto can end up leaving. There are no guidelines to this whole life thing and that's hitting me particularly hard right now.

The loss of control and grappling with the fact that there are no instructions to achieving my life goals translates to a lot of fear and anxiety influencing my decisions, but rather than staying in my comfort zone, I forcefully push my boundaries. I fear boredom, misery, and mediocrity far more than I fear moving across the country, going to events by myself, and meeting new people. Perhaps I'm not ready for the things I get into, yet that doesn't stop me. Like everyone, I seek comfort. I create a home for myself in other things, and especially in other people.

I can't remember the last time I wasn't involved with someone. Romantic interests are a tempting distraction from the lack of a solid support system and a quick fix to the fear of loneliness and abandonment. I drop and pick up someone new every couple of months - mainly because I fear commitment, or maybe because I don't actually like them. I keep them because, like Sza, I get so lonely I forget what I'm worth. And every once in awhile someone I actually want to be with will come around, but they won't want me back. I'm sure everyone can relate. We've all gotten emotionally invested in someone who will never be available for us despite knowing that from the get-go

The worst part of being invested in someone who couldn't care less about you is the insecurities that sprout up because of it. Years worth of building up confidence is compromised because of one person. An undeserving, unappreciative idiot. As if being young and confident wasn't hard enough.

“Cause it’s hard enough you got to treat me like this, Lonely enough to let you treat me like this”

Despite knowing how toxic this person is, I come running back to them. I settle for their lack of effort and trick myself into thinking I can do all the work for us. Giving free emotional labor for a person who doesn't give a second thought to my own emotions. I'm scared I'll never find anyone who makes me feel this way, who understands me, who let's me be me. It's really a silly thought, especially considering my age and limited exposure to dating, but logic and emotions don't always see eye-to-eye. I can't help feeling the way that I feel.

While everything around me is in flux, it's nice to believe that someone will hold me down. There's a person to cry to, a person who cares, a person who'll give. Even if it's only for a little while. Even if it's an illusion. I'll settle for the fantasy of companionship.

“Hope you never find out who I really am ’Cause you’ll never love me, you’ll never love me”

Alas, all fairytales come to an end. Eventually, the situation will open a new wave of insecurities that didn't exist before. Then when it all blows over I'll sit back and obsess over the whole thing. Maybe if I was prettier they'd stay? Maybe if I was less talkative they'd like me? Maybe if I was this or that things would be different?

“Do you even know I’m alive?”

I mean I can change my appearance and try to alter my personality, but do they even care? What's the point of changing yourself for someone who has already moved on? Why am I looking for the solution for fear, abandonment, uncertainity in an individual just as confused and scared as I am?

“Normal girl, I wish I was a normal girl”

And sometimes I just want a break from this all. I want to go lay under my covers and nap until I wake up and all my questions are answered and my life is sorted out. Nap until I wake up and am thirty, flirty, and thriving. I firmly believe if I stayed near home, majored in something that made money, and settled for the men around me my life would be simpler, more structured. But I'd also be miserable. Becoming the strong woman I desire to be is a lengthy process. It isn't always an upward trajectory, but I choose to believe the effort I put in will reap rewards. I'll get my degree, live where I want, and get a well-paying job, and I'll also have depth of character. I'll gain an experience and understanding that only comes with stepping out and exploring. Normal is comfortable, but normal is also mind numbingly, painfully boring.  

Despite all of the pain others and I have inflicted on myself, I'm going to dust myself off and try again. The biggest takeaway from the album for me is acceptance. Learning to accept the negatives that come with the positives. I can't be strong 100% of the time. A lot of women empowerment conversations, especially in music, center around looking our best, earning well, and establishing our dominance - that's all great, but being transparent about our vulnerability and flaws is equally important. Addressing our insecurities are crucial in our healing process. Ctrl lets young adults like me know that we're not dumb or stupid for making mistakes and feeling unsure, and we're certainly not alone in this never-ending process of growing up.  

“I belong to nobody Hope it don’t bother you You could mind your business I belong to nobody Try not to disturb And mind my business”

As much as I celebrate my individuality, I too crave acceptance, but I have to remind myself time and time again that I belong to myself. So many of my peers are pursuing careers they're not passionate about for the sake of money. So many people I know are settling and getting married young because they don't want to be single in their late 20's. So many people are living their lives based on the terms of their parents or what those around them expect from them. Especially my fellow South Asian peers. Don't they want to make their own choices? Be their own person? Maybe I'm young and naive and will eventually follow what is expected of me, but I'd rather believe I'm too head-strong and determined for all of that.

“I’ve been on the low key grinding Learning on the low key, shining Tryin’ to keep to myself”

Only once we have addressed our issues can we take back control. I've never really been much of a go-with-the-flow type of person, and I don't advocate for us to fall back and give up so easily. Cut off toxic people, notice red flags when they first appear, focus on yourself. The extrovert in me loves going to concerts, events, and shows to meet new people, but I'm sure many find that joy in keeping to themselves.

Then again, control is a myth, so rather than obsessing over mapping out your path, master the art of adapting to detours. Sza's album tells us to give ourselves the space to breathe, process our emotions, and adjust to what life has handed to us without letting it consume us. At the end of the day maturity isn't solely defined by what we have the strength to endure, but what we choose to walk away from and walk towards instead. 

[chxtney-blog]

boys, boys, boys

Every time I sit down to write a post, my mind goes blank. Throughout the day I have wonderful blog post ideas. My mind comes up with interesting topics, lenses of analyzation, and creative names from the moment I hop into my early morning shower to when I'm commuting to work to when it's 12 am and I'm still watching "Sex and The City." However, the moment I dedicate half an hour to writing, it's like I forget the entire English language.

But I'm going to force myself to write. If it comes out making sense then wonderful, and if not, the entire purpose of this blog is to refine myself. Part of my goal of being a renaissance woman in the making is growing, improving, and expanding. Writing is an art that needs practice like dancing, singing, or painting - and we all start somewhere.

2016 was the year of realizing things (according to Kylie Jenner), and I sure as heck learned a lot. By the end of my first semester I realized I was everything I wanted to be back in high school. Stylish, pretty, and free. Now my aspirations for myself have gone deeper than the way I'm perceived. I want the woman I will become after college and in my adulthood to be everything I wish I was right now: cultured, well-off, and independent.

Independence for women is always relative to their fiscal and emotional detachment from men. Being independent for us goes beyond the merriam-webster definition, it emcompasses being autonmous with our money, our aspirations, our mood, and our physical appearance. Despite the fact that all my friends and I are in college and on our way to making our own money, it seems like the only thing that we talk about these days is boys. "This boy broke my heart," "I'm now dating this boy," "Why don't boys like me" blah blah blah. I'm just as consumed by boys as everyone around me. My interest in boys came about in the latter half of high school, and I feel like that's why I'm so consumed by male attention and validation. I didn't think about it - let alone process it - in middle school or early high school, so it's hitting me particularly hard now. Despite going to a women's college, I'm still as obsessed with what the boys/men in my life are up to.

I'm really over men consuming my life. I don't want to be one of those young girls that doesn't do anything besides cry over how hurt she is (I've been her for the last couple of months and, god, she's so annoying). I don't want to end up like the older women in my life that don't know what to do with themselves when they aren't fending after their husband and children. I want to be somebody. This blog will obviously be a space for me to be personal, but I also want to refine my tastes and discover new artists, designers, authors, products, etc. Maybe this help me find my passion or give me a sense of direction in my life, or at least give me something to do other than focus on silly, little, pesky, annoying, unnecessary boys.

[chxtney-blog]

I’m not too articulate with my words, but I’m going to try writing my feelings down so I can finally get started on studying for this calc test.

Something about writing a blog and posting it online terrifies me. I’m opening up about my thoughts, emotions, and experiences all while giving the reader permission to interpret and react to my writing in any way they do. Attention petrifies me. It’s nice to be admired on a large scale, but everything won’t always be sunny — praise is always accompanied by criticism. However, the last few months have been transformative for me, and a special someone has been encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone and that’s exactly what this blog is for.

Moving 2000 miles away from my perfect little bubble to a women’s college in the South was the best decision I made. I’m not happy with where I am in life, but that has more to do with being young and in school than it does with my geographic location. Everyone always asks why I left sunny California for Atlanta of all places, and I usually respond with because of the scholarship money. While it’s true to an extent, I think I moved because I never felt fully comfortable in California. Despite being the third largest state in the country, California felt small, because no matter where I would go for college, I would know someone. If I chose to stay in the Bay Area, I would be spending time with the same 3 girls I spent all of high school with. If I ventured down to southern California, I’d still be surrounded with the same type of people. It’s difficult to explain, but at the time I sensed there was something about all these people (especially Desi people) that put me off. I couldn’t quite identify what exactly it was about them until I distanced myself.

The pattern I pinpointed was how sheltered and privileged everyone (especially upper-middle class Desis) were. We weren’t all that different from the White people we often criticized. The whole chai-runs-through-my-veins type of feminism became performative and purposeless to me. Who exactly are we helping by reclaiming the bindi? I started to separate myself from the mainstream Desi feminist/activist movement. I realized devoting my life to activism (as a career) would be exhausting and I would eventually lose hope. I applaud anyone who devotes themselves fully to genuinely helping the world, but I couldn’t do that.

Being a vocal “activist” was such a part of my identity in high school, and now that I’ve separated myself from that, I’m not too sure what defines me. From what I’ve heard from people it’s my looks. “You’re the pretty friend!” “Everyone knows you because you’re pretty.” I’m not going to sit here and complain too much, because there’s nothing more annoying that a conventionally attractive girl whining about how distressing her life is because of the difficulties that come with being “pretty.” I will say though that I don’t like the idea of being characterized by my looks. There’s more depth to my personality that I want others to acknowledge.

I’m in flux in terms of my identity, my career, my friendships, my everything. It comes with the territory of being 18. Yet, this whole “adult” thing becomes increasingly frightening with every passing day. Though I often find myself wishing I was thirty, flirty, and thriving, I understand that even turning thirty won’t guarantee stability in my life. Perhaps all those corny tumblr posts are right and I should fall back since it is more about the journey than the destination. Well, if that’s the case, when can I take a quick pit stop?

[chxtney-blog]

SOB x RBE

Photograph by Mancy Gant

Atlanta right now is the Rome of present-day hip-hop. Almost every artist that's dominating the charts is from the south. That's why after spending a year in the Mecca of modern-day music, I was upset to be back in the valley of subpar EDM (California).

Fortunately, I stumbled upon SOB x RBE (also known as just SOB) in an article by Will Bundy. The Vallejo hip-hop group, consisting of Yhung TO, DaBoii, Slimmy B, and Lul G, started making music on their iPhones and Playstations only a few years ago. Now they're in the playlists of music listeners in the bay and beyond.

I highly recommend checking out their album, SOB x RBE (creative). My personal favorites are "Lane Changing," "Anti," "Different" "Bust Down" and "Endzone."

[chxtney-blog]

Instagram Makeup and the Degradation of Self-Confidence

With makeup artistry comes the showcasing of one’s work. MUA’s and makeup enthusiasts have been posting before and after pictures of their makeovers on themselves and others for ages now, yet there has been a recent, exploitative trend towards picking on those transformations.

“Take her swimming on the first date” is a motto of ignorant male Twitter that attacks women for having natural skin underneath their makeup. It’s quite appalling to see how these men think women are born naturally with flawless skin, filled-in eyebrows, sparkly eyelids, and burgundy lips. Majority of those tweets picking at women’s transformations include pictures of women who suffer from hyperpigmentation, alopecia, acne, etc., an apparent demonstration that “savage” Twitter will make fun of anything and anyone for five minutes of fame.

Many makeup artists and makeup enthusiasts have retorted, from videos showcasing their waterproof makeup to well-written paragraphs about how they are NOT insecure underneath the makeup that they wear, but what about those women who are insecure about their looks and use makeup to boost their self-esteem? Granted, not everyone who wears makeup is covering something they don’t want seen, but a handful do. Where is their support?

I would not have ventured into the makeup world and become a beauty enthusiast if it were not for the problematic skin my mother passed down to me. If it weren’t for the break outs I suffered through my sophomore and junior year of high school that led to scarring that made me afraid to walk outside without foundation. Fortunately, with the improvement of my skin followed the improvement of my confidence, and I have reached a nice balance of security with our without makeup (although, I would like to be more confident without makeup). And I know many similar cases exist.

The fact-of-the-matter is with “Instagram makeup,” which I define as trend of the showcasing of makeup artists/makeup enthusiasts work on social media, accompanies things like “face-tuning” where blemishes, wrinkles, pores, or anything that signifies problematic skin are smoothed out. Perpetuating the idea that picture perfect skin is common, when majority of women have skin problems. The ideal of flawless skin emphasized by Twitter and Instagram has created yet another unrealistic expectation that girls and women need to reach. This expectation has the potential to particularly harm younger girls, those exploring makeup and learning about themselves, teaching them that if their faces are not flawless at every stage of their development, they are somehow “ugly” and unworthy of positive attention.

It saddens me that many, including myself, are hesitant to post selfies, especially without makeup, because of the negativity we are bound to receive. Unless we have no dark circles, no hyperpigmentation, and perfectly chiseled facial features, it’s almost certain that someone will attack us for being “deceptive” by using makeup. The apprehensiveness of going makeup-free in real life exists as well. I find myself contouring my nose every morning to make sure it appears smaller. And I know of plenty of women who cannot fathom stepping outside barefaced.

As beautiful, wonderful, and expressive as makeup can be, I rarely find makeup enthusiasts and artists talk about the negative effects of “Instagram makeup.” Quite frankly, “Instagram makeup” has made us women hyper-aware of the flaws in our appearance.

While it is very easy for me to sit behind this computer screen and encourage us all to embrace our natural features, it is actually very difficult to start that journey of self-appreciation. Makeup is a wonderful art form, something that many women of color enjoy, something that often even brings us together, but we should all make an active effort to remember makeup should not dictate our self-confidence. It’s okay to start being comfortable with the natural oils, colors, and pores of our skin. And it’s okay to unfollow, mute, and disconnect ourselves from pages that make us feel otherwise.

[chxtney-blog]

“Don’t Pass Me The Phone” (The Diasporic Dilemma)

In an interview with César Vega Magallón, Oscar Díaz, a Salvadorian artist talked about their art piece, Mal De Amores (Mercedes), and stated in the interview, “I think most people with fragmented families relate to this uneasy experience of being passed the phone. We feel uneasy because the people on the other end are strangers, even though they are our brothers, sisters, moms, aunts, and grandmothers.”

Every child of an immigrant can relate to this particular fear of being passed the phone to talk to relatives who live in our “native” countries. It’s a strange feeling being a child of the diaspora, being influenced by two distinct cultures, yet never fully understanding either of them. A phone call is like a mini trip to the “motherland.” And we all know that traveling to the “motherland” is usually a dreaded task; being met with the unfamiliar staunch of this foreign country, having to meet your relatives that you can’t seem to remember but expect you to (even if the last time you saw them was when you were two), living for weeks in a wifi-free or slow-wifi zone- nothing sounds very appealing. It’s a reminder that most of the family we have, we don’t know. We don’t connect with. We simply cannot connect with.

The phone is a reminder that sometimes we can’t operate in our native tongues. A reminder that there isn’t much conversation to be had with family back home besides how schoolwork is going. A reminder that we’re slightly different from our families in an irreversible way. We’ll forever be branded as the posh foreigners to them whose accents will be the running joke at the dinner table and they’ll always be the traditional, conservative relatives who we appreciate yet cannot stand at the same time.

The phone is a reminder that being a child of the diaspora is a wild journey that you have to take on your own. Your family isn’t quite your family so you create a tight community with other people. People just like you who are confused about their identity and their culture. People who like you can’t go to their immediate parents or grandparents or cousins for everything because they simply don’t understand. People like you who fear about being failures to their immigrant parents. People like you who keep their heritage alive through dance, music, movies, and each other. We’ve created something beautiful, fusing our past and our present, our ancestry and our home, but these things also reminds us of how much we wish we had that immediate support and understanding from the moment we were born. These things reminds us how much we wish we didn’t have to maneuver around to find a community. How much we wish that being handed the phone weren’t such a frightening, daunting task. How much we wish the people on the other line felt like family.

[chxtney-blog]

When Will Our Hotlines Stop Blinging?

I think there’s a dilemma with teenagers and their phones. No, this isn’t the seventy year-old me using my sixteen year-old body to speak out of. I’m serious. We’re overly dependent on texting, iMessaging, DMing, or whatever tool we use to send messages and receive them.

Let me break it down for you.

Think about sliding into someone’s DMs (this refers to when someone direct messages another person Twitter because he or she thinks that other person is attractive or interesting), and recognize how this concept of talking to someone we find interesting has always existed with all types of messaging methods. Two people, of the same or opposite gender, will start texting each other. They’re not necessarily a “thing” or in a relationship, heck, it doesn’t even have to be heading in that direction, it’s just two people being each other's constant texting buddy. They’re more than just friends, they’re confidantes.

This phenomenon, this constant need for someone to be texting us has consumed the way we interact with others and even ourselves. We’ve forgotten to be alone. We think that if we don’t have a person to to laugh, rant, discuss, or debate with from the moment we wake up to the moment we sleep, we’re missing out on something. Even relationships nowadays are signing us up for a serious relationship with our phones, updating our “Baes”. Any down time we have, it’s off to replying to a message, a message we’re expected to reply as soon as we see it.

Welcome to the social customs of the digital age.

I’ll admit, when I don’t have a messaging buddy, I yearn for one. I yearn for someone to confide in, but when I have this buddy, I remember what a chore it is. If I don’t reply immediately it’s as if I’m giving the cold-shoulder; I’m signifying something is wrong. You have to share every occurrence or problem in your life, and they’ll do the same to you. Every couple of hours or so you are obligated to reply back. After coming out of a 10-month relationship, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to not have seven messages every time I open my lock screen. I’ve forgotten that I do not need to stay up late until 2 conversing back and forth with someone to like I’m not lonely or to fill a void that I can’t fill all by myself.

This constant companionship can’t be healthy. I don’t think there are any concrete statistics, reports, or specific studies that can back my argument up, and, to be honest, this is quite a recent phenomenon, something that emerged as messaging became an integral part of our daily lives. From what I see and what I’ve experienced, relying on this constant companionship to keep our lives entertaining has made us forget what it’s like to be in awkward silences, or feel a moment of utter boredom, or a go a day without messaging someone back. We’ve forgotten the difference between being alone and being lonely. And, no, they are NOT the same thing.

[chxtney-blog]

Hindustan Mera Jaan

I am not in love with a border on the map,

I am not in love with a specific section of dirt,

I am not in love with the scorching deserts of Rajasthan, the sandy beaches of Goa, the breezy fields of Punjab, or the crowded streets of Mumbai.

I am in love with my language and my culture,

I am in love with my food and my stories, my clothing and my art,

I am in love with my people,

The people who never let me forget how much I love humanity and how much I need it.

I don’t care what colors the flag bears, or how my people choose to pray,

We belong to each other,

And together we’ll be better than our past.

[chxtney-blog]

Individuals March San Francisco

I was tapping my feet on the floor and fidgeting in my seat to get comfortable. I stared outside, avoiding eye contact with anyone, on the BART ride to the Embarcadero station in San Francisco. Not only did I lie to my mother about my whereabouts, telling her I was out shopping with friends, when really I was traveling to San Francisco to protest about something she would not want me protesting about (there’s teenage rebellion for you), but I was nervous for my first protest. I kept in mind previous protests in the Bay Area; I was not sure what to expect.

As I stepped out of the train doors, I was hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and angst. I walked towards the Ferry Marketplace Building, and as I was walking along Market Place with my poster that read “All I Want For Christmas Is The Destruction of Institutionalized Racism,” a girl named Bianca approached me. We had a small conversation as we were walking, she told me she was Nigerian and she asked if I was Indian. She was curious because she has a half-Nigerian, half-Indian cousin. We joked around about how spectacular a Indian-Nigerian wedding would be, and I was finally starting to relax. Bianca introduced me to a couple of her other friends, and I stood there playing around with my poster, wanting to say something to Bianca and her friends, but not being able to because I forgot most of their names, and because I was not comfortable enough.

Then, the protest began. A young woman took the megaphone and spoke: This was a PEACEFUL demonstration to PROTEST the UNNECESSARY MURDERS of African-Americans, and the UNJUST method in which way law enforcement escapes from culpability. After she spoke about her feelings, about this movement, about change; I realized me coming to San Francisco wasn’t about me, it was about what I could contribute. I had to remind myself continuously during the protest that this was not about me feeling scared simply because I lied to my mother- no, this was because BLACK LIVES MATTER.

The protest was incredible. Unlike how the media portrays protestors, everyone was peaceful and cooperative. The protest had people from all different classes, ages, genders, races, and religions rally for Black Lives. I saw a baby strapped onto a harness placed on her mother’s back. I saw little kids on their father’s shoulders chanting with everyone. When we all reached City Hall, and the speakers were giving their speeches and performances and telling their stories, I was able to clearly hear what each and every individual said. I was able to hear a mother who lost her son eight years ago and who still suffers from panic attacks from that incident, perform a slam poetry piece describing the death of her son, a young boy who was about to go to college on a football scholarship. I was able to hear a friend translate the words of a father who expressed his thanks to those who showed up to the protest in his native language. I was able to hear a sister tap into her anger and passion when she described how her brother was murdered by the SFPD. All these stories solidify in your mind that these murders are not random occurrences that do not affect us. These happen due to a mindset, a false, exaggerated belief of what PoC behave like. These happen because of racism.

Protests spark the conversation of racism in the US. Protests also show law enforcement, government officials, and business owners that the people are upset, and that they demand change. After the protest, when I was in the front trying to congratulate the organizers, I overheard a conversation between a young man and a young girl; the young girl brought up the point that protests are great, but what is the next step? How do we pass legislation to achieve the goals that protests want to see achieved? That is my question as well. We already have PoC in the system, we already have youth in “the system”, but having them in the system does not change much. We cannot depend on the powerful, old, white men who are in charge of our country to either pass legislation for us and we can’t wait for them to die so younger PoC can replace them. How will America break this mindset and all our institutions, all of which were built upon slavery and genocide?

The only way to get rid of racism in our institutions, is to destroy and rebuild them. I would like to believe that it won’t be like a bulldozer swinging sideways at the foundations of our country, but rather, like a child playing with legos, but that may be an unrealistic expectation. Revolutions in history have always been disruptive and violent; The French Revolution, the Haitian Revolution, and even the American Revolution have been inconvenient (only to the ones in charge and those not effected by it) and brutal. The movement is so young and fresh right now, it is difficult to predict exactly where it will go. However, there is one thing I am absolutely 100% certain of: This movement will not die.

I am beyond blessed to be a part of a generation that does not take “no” for an answer. A generation that is calling out the oppressive mindsets that have been governing our societies for centuries. A generation that cares about civil rights and gender equality. A generation that is able to connect people all across the globe for an important cause. Screw dreaming about living in the 1960s, this generation is so much better.

If anyone is skeptical about ever going to a protest, just go. Read upon the objectives of the protest, the schedule, and figure out your transportation. Be prepared. Educate yourself- don’t rally because you want to prove you believe in equality; don’t rally because you want something on your snapchat story. This is not a romanticized movement that you can use to make yourself seem edgier.; Racism is real and brutal; PoC are dying on the streets because of it. Protests can be safe, but as a rule of thumb, remember to break up anything dangerous. If you as a protestor see someone doing something illegal or disruptive, confront them, stop them, and carry on.

Keep an eye for future protests, keep reading articles and stories, bring up racism at your family dinners and lunches with friends- do what you can do for this movement. Change starts with you.

Images provided by Haldean Brown and myself.