fakemess

[fakemess]

it feels good to write here again

[fakemess]

shit post no. 69

How do I feel? I’m feeling heavy, stuffed with thoughts. Older and larger. I have 5 new stretch marks, tearing at my waistline. They’re this evil purple colour -- not the kind of purple that goes well with any of my wardrobe. 

Someone asked me how old I was for the first time since I turned 21, the other day. But, I don’t feel 21 at all. I feel a sharp 25, with the chequing account of a 16 year old. Everything is harder. Even this entry. Every night of high school, I used to pour out my feelings on my 4th generation iPod Touch and roll over into bed, satisfied that I’d been not only honest, but the right amount of witty. But, now, every piece of writing has to be good. Every sentence I phrase, every baby hair laid strategically in place. As I’ve gotten older, now it feels so much harder to fail. There’s so much further to fall. 

The funny thing is. No one is watching anymore. This isn’t high school anymore, I don’t have a “reputation to uphold”. No one is counting my failures. Only me. So, why is it so hard to just do things badly. To behave impulsively and to make bad art. 

I want to make bad art. I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want to use the right adjectives and include the best references and anecdotes. I want permission for mediocrity. Because I am a mediocre human being who isn’t going to get everything right. I want to allow myself to fuck up and forgive myself for not being the most clever. 

I just need to overall, take it down a fucking notch. Just be a person. I think I liked myself a whole lot more before I grew up. It’s hard to hear the nice things about myself now. It’s just one loud voice telling me no. I only want to hear yes. 

I need to reset. And my apartment is too hot. 

One day, I hope I make a ton of money. I just want all the coats. You know? 

[fakemess]

school is hard enough when your heart hurts 

[fakemess]

The Day School’s Toxicity and It’s Impending Failure_V1

I’m not the first person to ever fall victim to Jewish exclusivity. Time and time again you hear of stories of people’s traumatic experiences in Hebrew Day Schools and synagogues that drove them to not only exile themselves from the community, but to reject the religion entirely. If they’re lucky, they realize this in their childhood, while there’s time to beg their Imma’s and Abba’s to switch schools. But if you’re anything like me, you find yourself crying in your therapists’ office 6 years after the fact, wondering how your 8 year old self could be such a social pariah. The worst part of it all? You’re almost positive that since the community is built inside such an enormous bubble of elitism, money and stubborn politics, that no one is self-aware enough to account for the collateral damage. Which in this case was me. 

In the six or something years following my graduation from the London Community Hebrew Day School, my opinions on it have stayed constant. My mind, body and soul have become virtually unrecognizable since then, but somehow I’m still stirring. As some form of micro-retribution, I have always jumped at the opportunity to declare the ‘Day School’ toxic. Maybe that isn’t making up for it anymore, because I think I can finally put to words just how toxic I believe it to be.

 I have a distinct memory of a cold walk home from synagogue. I was trailing closely behind my father as the adults shuffled together like penguins, as they made their way south towards their igloos for Shabbat dinner. The topic of conversation was the day school, and a particularly significant member of the synagogue remarked, “the Day School is toxic”. Years later, I believe this to be true, but not for the reasons he was referring to. 

Now, before I delve into my arguments that back my particularly rash claim, I would like to acknowledge fault. Is this the fault of many, or the fault of some? In many ways, this could be a tiny offshoot of a big river--big city Judaism. My experiences meeting Jews from different cities has led me to conclude that rich, white Jewish people live similarly no matter where they are. With so many people in the London Jewish community having come from big cities with big Jewish populations from all over the world, it’s entirely possible that they have brought elements of this exclusive, elitist world back to London. But, I am going to be placing blame on the hands of many adults, hard-working adults with respectable careers and paycheques to match. Theoretically, they are adults with free will, and the Torah’s teachings on their minds-adults who should ‘know better’. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since venturing a little further into the ‘real world’, on account of attending University, it’s that people never change. Social structures never change. High school, fundamentally lasts forever. I realized this for the first time on my last trip to Israel. Being the only teenager volunteering amongst a group of adults more than half my age, I was able to observe a sample of an adult ecosystem for three weeks, in the particularly obscure environment of an Israeli army base. Somehow, this group of about 15 adults of varying ages and varying places of origin, were able to stir up more drama than what had probably occurred at my high school in the time since I’d been gone. My point being: there will always be personality clashes and differing politics in any social environment, people just get their first taste in actual high school. I don’t think this situation with the Day School was any different. Just like in high school, everyone comes from different backgrounds, and has different life dynamics. Conflict will naturally occur, just as it did in high school, however, there is never any room to be a bully. But, in this case there was barely any room to be anything but.

As a consequence of being a small child throughout this, I am missing a lot of behind the scenes information. I only have what my growing mind could absorb and my nearly grown mind could reflect on. I am inevitably biased, but perhaps this bias is in my favour. I am a firm believer in individuality and the importance of celebrating difference. I have also always been one to scoff at people who claim themselves to be ‘colour blind’. Ignoring our differences only blinds us from the issues that have marginalized so many. I am a undeniably a person of colour-a visible minority. I have brown-ish skin, and kinky curly hair. I have an African American father and a Caucasian mother. This isn’t uncommon these days, nor is it particularly unique. At the London Community Hebrew Day School, my difference was made to be my handicap. It was never declared, I was never a victim of blatant racism, but my difference was made to be obvious. My difference in hue was so tangible that it is practically it’s own character in this story. The Day School is a poor example of diversity. At the time of my attending (2011-2007), everyone was white, predominantly upper middle class, of parents with similar visions for the Jewish community. In a world where representation of people of colour is particularly lacking or just plain incorrect, I could not see myself in the students I went to school with, or the people I learned from. Now, I don’t want to directly discredit my education. I will make the claim that the Day School supplied me with the best and the worst teachers I have ever had to date. With that being said, almost immediately upon my transfer into the Day School in the third grade, still only months fresh from French Immersion, the bullying started. It breaks my heart remembering how my mother innocently wished a Jewish education upon me. I remember her feel words as she described to people how I would be joining the Day School in the fall. Maybe too young to understand the feeling at the time, but I can’t help but interpret that feeling now as “this switch of schools would be the key to our acceptance”. We had been attending Shul regularly by this time, but somehow my small mind knew that acceptance was important and that we didn’t have it. On my first day I remember leaving frustrated, I think I may have cried.  I walked past the old yellow bricks of that old yellow school, as my mom reassured me, “if you don’t like it, we’ll take you out”. How profoundly hurtful it must be to watch your child hurt.  

The years of bullying all sort of blur together. The memories take the form of a montage, with quick flashes of erasers hitting ceiling fans, parent teacher interventions and gagging in the school yard. Perhaps I don’t remember all the things that were said, or the things that were done as a sort of self defence. I do however remember the way it all made me feel. 

As years went by, expensive new schools were built and students came and went. The bullying between peers shifted to friendly teasing and the feeling of oppression shifted up the ladder. Suddenly, I felt less of a victim of classic childhood antics and more of a victim of the system. 

You could argue that the real world doesn’t work like that, but this is the real world and yes it does. 

But maybe I’m missing something fundamental here. Some capitalist driven mentality I can’t tap into. What do I know, I’m ‘just a kid’. 

[fakemess]

What is this?

Honestly, I couldn't tell you. See, I kind of want to be a writer. For television. I'm currently in school studying Media Production, and lately I've been thinking that screenwriting might be my end goal. But, I don't write. I like to write, I just haven't been writing. Lately I've been getting bursts of writing inspiration, I just haven't sat down and done it. So here's to being proactive.

My goal here is to write myself into a job. I want to write always, and about everything. This isn't some professional portfolio, and this isn't anything meaningful at all. I don't plan on writing to change the world. I don't really have anything planned at all, to be honest. I just want to write often, and until I'm good. How often do we write, fully uncensored, without any insecurity? Even in our most honest moments we hold back for fear of 'something'. I feel like that'll be difficult to truly accomplish, but here's to trying.

Anyways, think of this less as a testament to my talents, but a testament to me. This isn't some landing page for future employers. This is just shit I'm doing to better a 'skill' of mine and let out some angst. This blog might also read in an often self deprecating voice. I'm fine.

So that's it. This is all you get. This fake mess.