4am rant on racism and where I feel the world is headed. (take it as you will, I am sharing some very frustrated thoughts)

One day elitist people who think they have the power to put people on boxes are going to find themselves in quite a predicament because the world is a melting pot and whoever might be “breeding” within their race to keep their line “pure” is inevitably going to be “tainted” (unless they decide to inbreed in which case disease will end that promptly) and then we are all going to be mixed. And you can’t put mixed people in boxes unless you plan on having every single person in their own damn box with their own slew of traits and descriptions because we are all different. We are all individuals. It is eventually going to be impossible to really keep track of who is 1/8 Chinese, 1/2 Russian and 3/8 African and who is 1/4 Haitian and 3/4 Australian and who is whatever mix of whoever decided to get together to make the person you see there. Does it really matter? No it doesn’t, because they are their own person. Do people think it matters? Yes because unfortunately some people have their judgements and others have guns and a few out of those have power and the worst is when they have all three and they think they can decide someone’s fate.

If you want to be close minded, then go about your day thinking whatever you want and represent whoever you think you should. But don’t you dare think that your opinion gives you the right to affect someone else’s life. It doesn’t, it really doesn’t. So stop putting people in boxes and stop abusing your guns and power, cause everybody has the right to live their life in society. And we are all going to be mixed together one day so really, what is the point?

(Sorry for potential run on sentences, excessively long paragraphs, and any general grammatical issues. I wrote this on my phone rather late at night.)



Time has been my enemy for so long and I have no idea how to make it my friend.

Why do I always feel like I’m battling with time? Its as if I’m in an endless argument with it. I feel rushed because I don’t have enough of it, I feel depressed because I’m wasting it. Its moving too fast, moving too slow, never at peace. The little time I have, I never can put to any use that makes me feel satisfied.

I don’t usually include too much about my personal life in my writing other than whatever you can assume based on the emotion and content of my writing, but I am in a relationship that is considered “long distance.” Because of this, I have a very interesting and almost obsessive relationship with time. I’m stuck in a place where I’m constantly measuring time, and unfortunately my happiness is a bit tangled up in it as well.

At a month until we can see each other again, I feel terrible, hopeless. The light at the end of the tunnel doesn’t seem to exist, and I shift between being in a vaguely good mood and in a severely depressed mood several times every day. Each endless, passing day. At the end I realize that I spent the entire day wishing it was over and then I regret the time wasted. I feel terrible for being too silly to take advantage of the day I had, and by the time my rational mind has enough power to make me realize this, it is too late. Too much time but still not enough, simultaneously.

A few days before we see each other I’m elated. The days drag on but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care because the ultimate prize is waiting at the end of the tunnel and I am so close to the light I can almost feel it on my cheeks.

By the time we finally are together, a countdown starts somewhere within the recesses of my mind. I’m in the light, but the next tunnel is coming faster than I want it to. I find myself already dreading it. The dread weighs me down and makes it harder to enjoy the quickly disappearing light. A few days is barely enough to outweigh a month of darkness. They come and go too quickly, and I feel like I never have a chance to really enjoy them before I am back again, alone, with nothing but days to count down.

I catch myself wishing that we could just hold hands and not worry about how much time we have left to do so. I want to fall asleep and not wake up thinking that this is the last morning we have before being apart again. It is really messing with me and I have no idea how long I can take it. The worst part is that when I map my future, this will be my situation for a long time to come. I’m only in the beginning. It seems so ominous. I have years to go before I can have any relationship that is a little more free from the constraints of time. It seems like too much time. But it’s only too much because I don’t have nearly enough.

My problem rests with this.
I cannot escape this situation that I’m in, so the only option is to suffer or learn. I’m trying to learn, but all I feel is the suffering and I don’t know how to flip the switch. I have yet to figure out how to mend my terrible relationship with time. Meanwhile, it seems to only be interested in ruining me. How can I get myself on the same side as time? It looks like my enemy when I really need it to be a friend.



For the writers of “scholarly articles”

Okay I know that you guys are an intelligent bunch but please, hear me out and resist the temptation to feel vaguely insulted. Calm down with the big words! We all know that you know big words and how to use them. I know big words too, look: metamorphosis, sublimation, comprehension, onomatopoeia . This does not mean that I have to throw these words at my readers with odd inflections and uncomfortable suffixes that just really do not seem to work out contextually. Even if it seems to make the sentence sound “smarter.” You are a respectable writer and a well-read human being, it is implied by your title, but I really hope that your intention is not to leave your readers cross-eyed and brain dead. If this is your goal then you are on the right track, congratulations to you and I hope you are happy. Personally, I will just try to avoid reading your work in the future. Maybe I am making a fool of myself right now but if you never speak your mind then what is the point of thinking? I consider myself a decently intelligent person (just a little, maybe less than decent but it’s enough), and I am able to interpret and understand these extravagantly complex journals of yours, but I think there are other people like me who want to read something factually informative and just a bit enjoyable every once in a while.It could at least be manageable without inducing, within me, a desire to kill my computer. Reading strictly informative, condensed, arrogantly over-complicated work all the time can become a tedious thing. So please, throw me a bone, give me one article that does not want to make me fall asleep. Big words are nice, but not if they feel forced. You are still reputable for your knowledge, even if there is a single sentence in your eight page journal that does not contain a nine letter word. I know you write to inform and not necessarily to entertain, but informing people is not necessarily synonymous with making yourself sound like the next big philosopher.

**I do not really expect anyone to read this but just in case.¬†Again, I really do not want to offend anyone with this, I am just letting off some steam and frustration. It is never my intention to rile anybody up or cause any trouble, but I am still a teenager and am getting a bit frustrated with some of the “scholarly” things I am finding online. This is just my opinion in my current, frustrated state. Please do not take any offense. If you got this far, thank you for reading! If you hate me now, well you can always unfollow and I am sorry for that.


The intricacies of a writing process? Or how about the intricacies of the process of getting to the writing process. I’ll let you decide.

I do not know if anybody else in this big, wide world will relate to these peculiar discoveries I have had, but I think posting it on the internet is worth a shot. For some reason, my mind seems most alert and focused in the odd hours as tonight is approaching tomorrow morning. That being said, some of my best work has been produced in that mysterious time of night when we have no ides whether to say today or tomorrow. I sit down in front of a computer at a decent hour, say five o’clock, and sit, and sit, and sit. I am starting at a screen with a blank mind, vaguely wondering why I am sitting in front of this computer and when it would be acceptable for me to go search for food again (by the time these thoughts cross my mind, I have probably searched my entire dorm room on several occasions, hoping to discover something to eat or something to distract myself with). This is the point in my writing process (does it even count as a writing process if there is not a letter on the screen in front of me?) where I decide that I need to give myself space form the project, essay, paper, work of art, sculpture or whatever you wish to address it as. So I wander around, snack, play some music, grab dinner, go to the gym, eat again and then finally decide to take control of my life and give the worrisome area of my mind that stresses about responsibilities (maintaining my health is a responsibility right? I think that going to the gym and eating are justified.) a chance at relief. At this point in time it is probably around ten or eleven o’clock. The sky is dark,the stars are peeking out of the clouds, bright and timely, the moon is rising, slowly but surely doing it’s job, and my fingers have not moved. So at this point I am still, for whatever reason, lacking inspiration or just ideas in general.

As I stare deeply into the ever brightening computer screen in front of me (or maybe the world around me is just getting darker), I suddenly decide that I will write my paper and I will write it with exceptional eloquence, conviction and haste. Once the decision is made there is no turning back. Inspiration hits me like a truck, words come to my brain and translate to my fingers, my mind lights up (if I was having a brain activity scan while this happened, then the screen would suddenly burst into color) and my fingers begin to move at rapid fire speed. I hear the keyboard ticking and feel increasingly satisfied with myself as the lines of thin, black letters grow more and more numerous. Pages later (They might be paragraphs, it depends on the assignment, but I am not much or a paragraph person. I like ranting too much. I’ll just edit everything later.) my fingers are starting to feel the strain of the sudden exertion after such a long day of relaxation. I slow down my typing, the musical ticking starts to sound more like sporadic tapping, and I decide to end my paper (rant). I click save, a small wave of relief washing down my spine, unless my computer decides to do something cute like shut down or restart (It has happened.), in those cases it is more like a twinge (or a jab) of annoyance. With a profound sense of achievement and finality, I shut down my computer and close the screen. Satisfied with my accomplishments of the night, I finally allow myself a glance at the clock. In the few milliseconds it takes to turn my head and have the time register into my mind, quite a few, extremely reasonable and logical thoughts fly across my consciousness. “It can not have been all that long right? I was typing pretty quickly and I sat down in front of my computer fairly early on in the evening. Maybe I will have time to get some sleep before I wake up at seven o’clock! Today will be a successful night, and I will finally get some rest.” The glowing white numbers translate in my brain and I am tempted to slap myself in the forehead for even hoping I had a chance. 3:18AM. Oh how wonderful.