I am very white. And where I come from, everyone else is white too. The only person of color I encountered on a regular basis when I was little, was a woman from Barbados who lived just outside of my village with her husband, who was white. They had a little boy a couple of years younger than me and we went to kindergarten together. I have tried to remember, really remember, anything from my childhood that tells me that I at some point questioned this woman and her son's darker skin, but can't think of anything at all. But when I think a bit further, I sort of understand why.
I love my parents, but they don't have any opinions about anything. I've tried to talk politics with them, but it's impossible. Now, I happen to be a bit too opinionated sometimes and I've wondered how that can be when my parents are how they are. But is it possible that because my parents never pushed their opinions on me (or, couldn't because they didn't have any) like some parents do their children, that I was able to shape my own ideas about the world and how I see things? It makes sense. And you know what more makes sense? My not caring for appearance as a young kid. I didn't have a parent who told me that "they have dark skin, that is not good, do not trust them" and I think that therefore I was raised to be more open-minded. And those who are told those things, often grow up to become narrow-minded and racist.
It was when I got older and started to hear and read things about racism that I got an understanding about how some people view others differently because of their darker skin and that I am incredibly fortunate to be born white in a middle class home, because I have always had everything I needed and no one discriminated me because of how I looked like. Now I have read a lot about this enormous issue and I understand how privileged I am. I wish I wasn't. I wish there weren't such a thing where a people could be more privileged, whether we are talking about skin color or class. As long as privilege exist, the world is poisoned by some kind of evil lurking in the darkness.
I'm not going to hate my whiteness though. 1. I can't do anything about it and there is therefore 2. no point in hating it. And 3. my pale skin is 'me'. It makes me who I am, just as it makes everyone else who they are. It doesn't matter what color your skin is, but as the skin is with you from day one, you learn to love it pretty quick, regardless of color. I can't think of myself with another skin color, because I am my pale skin.
I don't care about skin color or religion or culture. If you are nice to me I am nice to you. If you find happiness in your religion, then I am happy that you are happy. If you find strength and a sense of meaning in your culture and your traditions, please continue. I don't care what you do. There are not many things that makes me as happy as when I see other people's happiness.
[I decided to write this in English, as it is an important question. Can you still love your whiteness if you don't care about skin color?]
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söndag 18 oktober 2015
lördag 16 maj 2015
La vie bohème
I came to the city to revaluate my life
I came to the city to find a true meaning of whatever I could find.
I had searched for so long,
but nowhere it could be found; the true meaning of this little thing called... love.
Love is the strongest feeling in the world. Hand in hand it goes, with its antithesis hate. A power couple they are, strong enough to build a world. And equally as powerful to tear this world apart. Love could not exist with its lover hate. Hate feeds on jealousy and betrayal – let down expectations and half hearted lies. Love feeds on lust and passion, trust and desire. As much as you love someone, there is always hate in the background, waiting for them, or you, to make a mistake that will get the boat rocking. A tiny mistake and the trust – the most fragile thing, is broken. Whether it is only a mare rumour, or if it is something more, if there is no trust there cannot be love.
I came to this city to fulfil my dreams,
I came to this city for a change in ways.
Following the morning sun’s beams,
I will find my destiny, wherever it lays.
Destiny will find its way to you in the least expected way and even if you think you are not expecting anything, you will still be surprised because that is how destiny works; it slithers inside your being in your most needed time, without your knowing it and it waits and waits and waits and waits and seeks the right moment where you are ready to get your destiny revealed – and when you are, you will see that you have lived a lie until that moment of time because you have not been truly honest with who you are and why you are here, which of course you could not have known. This is the beauty of the unruly destiny; it will either make you whole and alive, or it will destroy your soul and being. It truly is as simple as that.
When I grow up I don’t want to be happy. I want to be free.
Frowns fill the air like venom. You, me and everyone we know, stand in a circle on the roof, holding hands with our backs bent back to gaze at the stars that tower above us. They are with us today, the souls of fallen heroes and half forgotten gods. We all can feel their presence, lingering in the outskirts of our ensemble.
I hope they will devour us.
”We have wronged you! Punish us, make us suffer eternally!” You let go of the hands you are holding and reaches for the sky, calling for our masters.
You are so beautiful.
Nothing will ever tear us apart, except for one thing. Our beliefs are strong. We are free as birds, following the winds of the seasons, without a care in the world. We have have bathed in the source of all truth and it will not leave us until the day we die. We feel the beauty in everything we do, as it is a part of our way of life. Beauty is all around us. But love, oh love. Love is indeed a fickle thing, not bound to a time and so easy mislead and driven away. And yet is love so strong and everlasting that it could devour even the most serious and apathetic being out there. But if that is what it could do to such a person, what could it do to someone welcoming it with open arms, you ask. If we look at love as a friend and as an equal, there is one simple answer.
Love will tear us apart.
Do you feel the seconds passing by, whispering worthless syllables in your ear? I can feel them. I hear them every day, telling me to stop thinking and start doing, to not imagine the consequences and simply let the feelings take over. I try to let my guard down and to not worry about what could be because of my actions, but the nagging feeling in my very bones, never truly leave me.
I see colours before my eyes and hope it means I am well on my way of becoming the person I want to be. Am I? I feel that someone must have the answer, even though I know by heart the reason of my not knowing. It is because of my destiny. Oh, sweet destiny! Do not take long to reveal yourself to me. I am more than eager to find my place in this world and in this shattered city.
This is a city to which I came to experience things I had never came across before. I suppose this place could be worse, but as it seems, the only friendly beings are the bunch of unsuccessful characters, hoping for a breakthrough.
And you.
Oh, you, you make my heart sing of desire. You are not like the rest of them, you light my fire. And it might sound cliché, but this confession of love I will not delay; if you where a hero, I would sing to the skies every single day. Because truth be told, every day with you feels like the scent of flowers blooming in May. If I could be yours, I would be everything you would want me to be. The only requirement is that you love little me.
This story is a scramble of shivering words, told in an instant, but locked in as birds. If love would be you and hate would be me, I know for certain that we would never be free. But as you wish, this story will end, under a dim street light, embracing that old friend. For what it is worth, I will not see you again. And that is most likely for the best. This is the last, finest and truest refrain.
I came to the city to find a true meaning of whatever I could find.
I had searched for so long,
but nowhere it could be found; the true meaning of this little thing called... love.
Love is the strongest feeling in the world. Hand in hand it goes, with its antithesis hate. A power couple they are, strong enough to build a world. And equally as powerful to tear this world apart. Love could not exist with its lover hate. Hate feeds on jealousy and betrayal – let down expectations and half hearted lies. Love feeds on lust and passion, trust and desire. As much as you love someone, there is always hate in the background, waiting for them, or you, to make a mistake that will get the boat rocking. A tiny mistake and the trust – the most fragile thing, is broken. Whether it is only a mare rumour, or if it is something more, if there is no trust there cannot be love.
I came to this city to fulfil my dreams,
I came to this city for a change in ways.
Following the morning sun’s beams,
I will find my destiny, wherever it lays.
Destiny will find its way to you in the least expected way and even if you think you are not expecting anything, you will still be surprised because that is how destiny works; it slithers inside your being in your most needed time, without your knowing it and it waits and waits and waits and waits and seeks the right moment where you are ready to get your destiny revealed – and when you are, you will see that you have lived a lie until that moment of time because you have not been truly honest with who you are and why you are here, which of course you could not have known. This is the beauty of the unruly destiny; it will either make you whole and alive, or it will destroy your soul and being. It truly is as simple as that.
When I grow up I don’t want to be happy. I want to be free.
Frowns fill the air like venom. You, me and everyone we know, stand in a circle on the roof, holding hands with our backs bent back to gaze at the stars that tower above us. They are with us today, the souls of fallen heroes and half forgotten gods. We all can feel their presence, lingering in the outskirts of our ensemble.
I hope they will devour us.
”We have wronged you! Punish us, make us suffer eternally!” You let go of the hands you are holding and reaches for the sky, calling for our masters.
You are so beautiful.
Nothing will ever tear us apart, except for one thing. Our beliefs are strong. We are free as birds, following the winds of the seasons, without a care in the world. We have have bathed in the source of all truth and it will not leave us until the day we die. We feel the beauty in everything we do, as it is a part of our way of life. Beauty is all around us. But love, oh love. Love is indeed a fickle thing, not bound to a time and so easy mislead and driven away. And yet is love so strong and everlasting that it could devour even the most serious and apathetic being out there. But if that is what it could do to such a person, what could it do to someone welcoming it with open arms, you ask. If we look at love as a friend and as an equal, there is one simple answer.
Love will tear us apart.
Do you feel the seconds passing by, whispering worthless syllables in your ear? I can feel them. I hear them every day, telling me to stop thinking and start doing, to not imagine the consequences and simply let the feelings take over. I try to let my guard down and to not worry about what could be because of my actions, but the nagging feeling in my very bones, never truly leave me.
I see colours before my eyes and hope it means I am well on my way of becoming the person I want to be. Am I? I feel that someone must have the answer, even though I know by heart the reason of my not knowing. It is because of my destiny. Oh, sweet destiny! Do not take long to reveal yourself to me. I am more than eager to find my place in this world and in this shattered city.
This is a city to which I came to experience things I had never came across before. I suppose this place could be worse, but as it seems, the only friendly beings are the bunch of unsuccessful characters, hoping for a breakthrough.
And you.
Oh, you, you make my heart sing of desire. You are not like the rest of them, you light my fire. And it might sound cliché, but this confession of love I will not delay; if you where a hero, I would sing to the skies every single day. Because truth be told, every day with you feels like the scent of flowers blooming in May. If I could be yours, I would be everything you would want me to be. The only requirement is that you love little me.
This story is a scramble of shivering words, told in an instant, but locked in as birds. If love would be you and hate would be me, I know for certain that we would never be free. But as you wish, this story will end, under a dim street light, embracing that old friend. For what it is worth, I will not see you again. And that is most likely for the best. This is the last, finest and truest refrain.
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