The last few days have been odd. Not in a good or bad way, just different from what I was expecting. I’m tired, even though I’ve been sleeping more than usual of late. I’ve been dreaming, and feeling disoriented when I first wake up. My dreams are disturbing. They reflect my silent sorrows. The things I don’t talk about. The things I don’t cry about, externally. I try not to allow them into my conscious thoughts. I don’t know how to heal that which mankind has rent asunder. I’m part of the problem by default. My will alone seems to lack the power I was promised by an allegedly greater entity. Foul.
I’ll try another tactic. I enjoy Twitter. I feel like part of a community from which I can acquire information, companionship, debate, support, understanding, and an amazing amount of humor. It’s a raw, sociological phenomenon in which I get to participate as much or little as I want. I’m a nobody, but I’m a nobody among a sea of nobodies, all passing notes and giggling whenever a nobody becomes a somebody for a minute. Sometimes a somebody becomes a nobody for a minute. It’s unpredictable to me. It’s emotional chaos. It’s a trap. Resistance is futile. I can’t look away. But I see things that upset my sleep.
I can’t sleep very well, because I follow a lot of young Americans and Canadians on Twitter, (I’m their self appointed cheerleader), and I’ve noticed a trend. I see young men of color tweeting that they’re surprised to still be alive. These tweets are sincere. They’re declarations of something these young men find astonishing. They expected to be dead by now. Celebrating an 18th birthday wasn’t something they expected out of life. And they’re so surprised to still exist, that they felt the urge to tweet it. It’s hard to sleep, knowing this. It’s so wrong. We’ve failed them so hard. They’re afraid to even hope for a future, and it’s our fault. We who have existed long enough to become adults. We who have been selfish and short-sighted. I have blood on my hands. I’m a woman of color, and I can’t sleep, because I played my role in this atrocity. I’m not enough older, which somehow hurts more. I wish I could get my thoughts to translate to solely English words.
I just know that we who have been living comfortably in North America, need to do whatever it takes to make the world safe again for young men of color. And those who know me best, know I mean all young men. We owe them hope. Owe them. We can do this. We can make it right. Just do your part. Parent them when they need a parent. Acknowledge, listen to, and encourage the young men in your life. They think they know everything, but they’re Jon Snow. Forgive them when they make mistakes. Show them through your example, how to be an adult. You know how, even though we all resent it. We can resent it, and still show them the way. It doesn’t matter that half of us had to figure it all out alone. We figured it out. Now be the teacher. Please.