Passivity hurts people too

Some writing about my upbringing and my heritage. A lot of tension lately. I just wanted to share what I was feeling and see if anyone understood it from my writing... do you?

Your passivity could not have been a more aggressive, destructive action. It has severed my ties with my homeland. It moves me to tears day after day after day. It has orphaned and isolated me from my family. It has placed an unshakable weight on every action that I make, on every thought that slips into and out of my mind, on every breath that’s sucked into my mouth and on every word that’s expelled from it.

I cannot forgive you for this. For each hour that I meditate on this unatural isolation that you have imposed upon me with your ignorance and racial prejudice, I feel that you have willingly deprived me of a home. You have willingly deprived your child of belonging. You have willingly deprived your child of knowing themself wholly, entirely. You have removed any possibility of me returning and integrating with those of my blood. Now, we share blood and stories but we do not share a psyche. We are not the same. We can never be the same. And I blame you. I blame your white privilege. I blame your conservative neo-colonial British arrogance. It has murdered my ties with my land.

And in response? My inner child screams, sobs, weeps. It refuses to calm. It is in protest. It is protesting your closed-mindedness. It is grieving. It is resisting the wrongs consistently inflicted upon its dear Arabs based on its new-found Arab belonging. Its chest feels it is about to tear in two. It feels panic and adrenaline infusing its cries - no, flooding them. The crippling, pulsing pain raises the volume of this child’s cries.

It is Arab blood that runs through my body, but it is a British mentality that coarses through my apathetic state of being. What a contradiction. I both love and hate myself - want to bring myself closer and push myself away in a final act of rejection, repulsion.

The screaming goes on. It endures. It does not tire. It gets louder. I sit with it. It draws energy from God knows where. Perhaps it draws it from the parts of myself I no longer want to claim. I have been British for long enough. What has it gifted me? Guilt. I have ignored the cries of my family for too long. I am ashamed. I’m coming for you. Wallah I am with you now and I will not ever leave your side.

Author's Note

Hey! Please don't share any comments on my writing technique - I'm not trying to be a writer, I just wanted to share what I was feeling and see if anyone understood it from my writing... do you?

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

these are very powerful and emotional words. Good art calls upon the reader to see perspective through the eyes of others in their vision of the world they see. I can never walk in your shoes, but as a human being I am moved by your words and journey, as well as suffering. When I was a child back in 1970 I started year one of schooling. The teacher went around the classroom asking each child their name and what they were. I was confused by the question because my grandmother who raised me told me I was American and to not let anyone tell me different. So when the time came I stood and said my name and proudly said "I am American." She then attempted to correct me by saying, "No, you are Mexican." I was confused because I had never been to Mexico I was born here in California. I stood my ground and attempted to correct her, but I sensed her discomfort and annoyance with me. We continued to go back and forth, and I was brought to tears. For you see I felt for the first time in my life I was in a country that would always see me less then what I believed myself to be. That no matter what I did, to some here I would never be American. It is a loss of innocence that I shall never get back. I hope you continue to write your truth, so that maybe our words can change the world.