Shannon’s Student Blog
I won’t keep bangin’ on about starting back at University, but after three months away from study, I am a little excited. Also, during the lead-up to recommencing, I am doing little more than organising for it anyways. Thus, ta-da, this post. I just wanted to share with you my recently created University blog; Shannon’s Student Blog. Alas, I will no longer be tormenting you with an overflow of my unit requirements, of posting reflections & updates in a – portfolio styled – medium of my choice. I will keep as much of those pondering’s too the blog, as is possible.
Otherwise, as I’ve previously mentioned, there is little more too mention. Until such a time that I have something of differentiating importance to share, I will say, “ta-ta.”
Please fire me. My boss started my performance review by saying he isn’t sure if I brush my hair in the mornings.
This isn’t good. Mine was more like, “Doc Martens are unacceptable footwear.” When asked what is “acceptable footwear” I was told, “black leather shoes.” I then asked about my work ethics & was told that I am a “dedicated, and values employee.” Yes, no dramas with my work, just my chosen “black leather shoes.”
People annoy me.
P.s. I have long thick hair. I never brush it.
When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.
Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”
When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.
Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”
I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.
She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”
“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”
He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”
Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”
When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”
Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”
Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.
He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.
Here is a fact: I think gender is a social construct and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and am the same gender as my sex, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.
Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.
One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.
I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”
Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.
It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.
It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.
It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.
There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.
I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.”
By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
EVERYBODY READ THIS. RIGHT NOW.
Don’t forget the fear. Anger is easier than fear.
This is a great collection of words; I recommend reading them.
I just sit here sometimes like
sexism is still a thing
the fact that sexism was ever a thing
it’s beyond me
a woman pushes you out of her fucking BODY
and you grow up to be like ‘ahahaha women r stupid and weak’
i don’t get how that happens
our biology teacher brought a skeleton to class yesterday and now everyone’s treating it as if it’s a part if our class i’m going to
your desks are huge and sturdy and your seats have armrests and cushions what type of magnificent learning facility do you attend to holy—
is that a painting of a pink sheep on the wall what
i enjoy the fact that we’ve collectively ignored the skeleton just chilling and instead we comment on the decorating
Is that carpet….
Carpet that matches the cushions!
what the fuck kind of school is that omfg we don’t even have enough chairs for all the students half the time
we have kids that sit on the floor half the time
…Its why the skeleton happened; someone realised how lucky they were to be schooled in a place that has carpet, lovely desks, pig paintings, natural scenery from the windows, and they died there. That person sat back & relaxed in educational splendor. They relaxed them self to death. Happily.
Happy Birthday Richard Ford!
"Find what causes a commotion in your heart. Find a way to write about that." - Richard Ford
This is what I’m searching for.
"I know she’ll be in good hands."
There’s nothing more that a girl wants on a day when she doesn’t feel ill at all, The Doctor.